


We Got the Time, Know When to Push Our Luck

by essieincinci



Series: No Finer Mess To Be Found [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Anxiety, Belly Kink, Chubby Kink, Feeding Kink, Insecurity, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Multi, Panic Attacks, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Tiny Steve, chubby bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 01:40:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3100322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essieincinci/pseuds/essieincinci
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When asked at the party that evening, Steve insists it was the cookies that brought him and Bucky together, even though everyone present for the party has also been present for their entire relationship to this point.</p><p>“It’s an engagement party! That’s what you do!” Darcy insists. </p><p>Steve shrugs. “Cookies, then. It was definitely the snickerdoodles.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Got the Time, Know When to Push Our Luck

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot thank [alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody](http://alittlepudge-neverhurtnobody.tumblr.com/) and [vanessadoes ](http://vanessadoes.tumblr.com/)enough for everything they've done to bring this story to life with me.
> 
> Title once again from Lucero's Sounds of the City

When asked at the party that evening, Steve insists it was the cookies that brought him and Bucky together, even though everyone present for the party has also been present for their entire relationship to this point.

“It’s an engagement party! That’s what you do!” Darcy insists.

Steve shrugs. “Cookies, then. It was definitely the snickerdoodles.”

Bucky agrees that snickerdoodles had a great deal to do with it, but he’s told Steve he doesn’t know how many times: he wanted him well before he ever experienced his baking. Steve struggles to believe that sometimes, even still.

“The first time you met me I had bags under my eyes you could go camping in,” Steve laughs.

“You were cute! And I needed a tattoo. So, tattoos. And Clint, I guess.”

Clint takes full credit, and of course Coulson is on his side. Peggy claims it was fate, and indulges in a not-so-rare moment of romanticism. Maria rolls her eyes at all of this, and Darcy joins in, though everyone knows she thinks it’s fate, too.

Stark and Banner turn the conversation into an argument of determinism and destiny, and Thor and Jane join the argument on that side of things on the far side of the table.

Sam and Natasha decide over shots that this means their taxes - which funded Bucky’s missions, training, and half-assed recovery - essentially brought Steve and Bucky together.

“Makes me feel a little better about my role as a cog in the capitalist machine,” Natasha raises her glass in their general direction before shooting it and slamming it back down on the table.

“If that’s the case, there’s an awful lot of US-funded deviance in this room,” Sam grins.

“It’s like there’s no hope for the vanilla among us,” Darcy says with a sigh.

Bucky snorts in response to Darcy calling herself vanilla of all things, and Steve raises his eyebrow in silent question.

“I lived in her spare bedroom for like, a year, remember?”

Steve nods and says, “Right, right.” while Darcy smiles proudly.

“Perhaps,” Natasha says, her hand just the slightest bit wobbly as she pours another round of shots for the table, “perhaps we should start a PAC.”

On the other side of the room, Coulson rubs his temples. “No, Tony, that does not mean this party can be written off as a political donation.”

“You’re not a real lawyer anymore, Coulson, what do you know?”

“Is so!” Clint defends, and he and Tony get into a literal ‘is-so-is-not’ argument, until Coulson breaks it up, calming Clint by dragging him back to Steve and Bucky’s end of the table and settling him at his feet with a hand on his head.

Clint giggles. “We were at _a_ bar. Arguing about _the_ bar. Get it?”

“Yes, sweet boy,” Coulson scratches his fingers through Clint’s hair and Clint gazes angelically up at him.

“How did I make it so long without catching this?” Steve laments, hanging his head with his eyes on Clint resting against Coulson’s knee.

“Our friends are all a little messed up, babe,” Bucky says. His arm is thrown proprietarily across Steve’s shoulders, where it’s been since climbing out of Maria’s car in front of Stark’s club after they left the tattoo shop. “This is nothing stranger than anything the rest of them get up to.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Peggy says.

“You’re an innocent little snowflake, Steve,” Maria says kissing Peggy loudly on the cheek.

Bucky looks pointedly at his stomach, where Steve’s fingers are working their way between the buttons of Bucky’s work shirt. He’d liked the way they looked on Coulson, and Steve liked the way they had buttons that would gape and every so often pop off when Bucky overate, so more and more have made their way into his wardrobe. They’re also easy to buy in bulk, so he only has to go shopping when he can’t find the buttons after they skitter across the room.

“For … certain values of innocent,” Maria corrects.

Steve blushes, but doesn’t really move his hand. “So who, exactly, moved into the shop next door?” he asks. His attention has turned from Bucky’s belly back to his left ring finger, where his newest tattoo is still red and puffy and the most beautiful piece of ink he’s ever seen.

Clint raises up on his knees and crosses his arms over Coulson’s thigh. “You know the mandarin player from that band Coulson loves?”

“Mandolin,” Coulson corrects absently, bent down over his tablet and double-checking against something on his phone.

“That’s what I said. That guy and this other guy he met on tour.  Did you ever see them, Steve? They were a reggae kind of deal, this other guy was one of the forty-three people on stage at any given time.”

“Shut up, Clint.” Steve flicks Clint’s elbow playfully. "There weren't forty-three."

“Anyway, the lanolin guy-”

“Mandolin,” Coulson corrects again, not looking up from his tablet. Apparently, there was a little too much vacation and not enough working in their recent road trip, and Coulson couldn’t let his email go unattended any longer.

“Right, he, like, forgot how to play the banjo or started having panic attacks every time he heard an accordion or something. Not making fun,” he explains quickly, defending himself from the capital-L Look Steve gave him. “You know I wouldn’t, something legit happened, but I don’t know the details. So instead of being a band, him and the other band guy and the two chicks - _women_ , Nat, fuck, _sorry_ \- opened a cupcake shop.”

“Oh, the one next door to Steve’s?” Pepper asks, coming down to their end of the table after refilling her drink. Could be lots of things, but Bucky thinks it’s just tonic water and lime. Pepper catches his eye and shakes her head once, and he lets it go without comment. She can drink whatever she likes, he doesn’t care. He’s only having Coke anyway.

“Aren’t they a little late to the trend?” Darcy pipes up. “Cupcakes are _so over_.”

“I think it’s a full-service bakery,” Natasha clarifies. “They were just using mini-cupcakes as a promotional tool.”

“Are they any good?” Sam asks, lining up the shot glasses on the table with the focus of the truly inebriated.

Tony lifts his beer in their direction, finally tired of arguing tax law and loopholes and how they play into the fickle finger of fate with Bruce. “Mr. Sam Wilson, asking the real questions.”

“I don’t know,” Natasha says, ignoring Tony. “I was with Pep, and she wouldn’t have any.”

Pepper shrugs. “Strawberries.”

Bucky pulls Steve back to him. “This is either very, very good news, or very, very bad news, babe.”

Steve nods. “Do you think they do wedding cakes?”

“Get your head out of the gutter, Rogers,” Sam shouts.

“It’s my engagement party. I’ll gutter it up if I want to,” Steve says petulantly.

“A toast!” Jane calls from the far end of the table.

“To your union being recognized by the state,” Thor announces.

“To official kinky deviance!” Tony echoes, with the rest of the table falling in.

=====

“I don’t want to do the cake in the face thing,” Bucky says, unlocking the door and waiting for Steve to head inside.  

“Right.” Steve nods. “What a waste of perfectly good cake. Drink some water.”

“I wasn’t drinking, you drink some water,” Bucky calls.  “But also, are we doing those cheesy traditional things?”

“Dunno.” Steve shrugs. “Guess it depends on how much I’ll have to put up with Tony pouting over not getting to catch your garter.”

“Oh, I’m wearing a garter now?” Bucky laughs, crosses his arms and leans against the wall to wait on Steve.

“Well, if the lingerie fits. Oh, no, I know. Wear those jeans, the ones with the holes in the thighs?” Steve rocks up onto his toes for a kiss.

“I can think of all sorts of reasons that would be a bad idea.” Bucky complies, kissing Steve deeply.

“Like what?” Steve asks, looking up through his lashes and indulging in a rare show of vulnerability. He slides his hands under Bucky’s shirt, rucking it up to get to all that warm skin underneath.

“Like I know what those jeans do to you, and I don’t want to get arrested for public indecency on our wedding day?”

Steve breathes out harshly, sucking a love bite into Bucky’s collar bone.

“Like the fact that they might not even fit me anymore by our wedding day?” Bucky holds Steve by the shoulders and turns him, back to front, sliding his hand under Steve’s waistband.  He walks Steve over to the bed and waits for him to crawl on up, clothes hitting the floor as he goes. “How do you want me?”

Steve rolls onto his back, tossing a pillow at Bucky and reaching for his wrist. “I want you on top, I think I’ve made that perfectly clear all night. Come on, get up here, come _on_.”

“I’m coming,” Bucky laughs. “So impatient.” He climbs onto the bed over Steve, bracing his weight on his hands and knees.

“No,” Steve whines. “Get. _On_. Me.” Steve clenches his fingers along Bucky’s back, pulling him down. If Bucky really wanted, he could resist, but he doesn’t really want to.

He doesn’t really want to break his boyfriend, either, so he gently lowers himself down, listening for Steve’s quickening breath as he does. He slicks up the fingers of one hand and tries to keep his weight evenly distributed on Steve while he gets him ready.

“Feels good,” Steve says, his voice trailing off into a desperate whimper.

Bucky takes his cue, rolls them over, pushing Steve to sitting on top of him in one swift motion.

“Jesus, Buck,” Steve gasps. He bends himself damn near in half and licks a stripe across Bucky’s collarbone and up his neck. He reaches behind himself and lines everything up, sinks down slowly, his thighs shaking with the strain of moving so slowly.

Bucky’d have prefered to take longer, stretch him more, but there’s no arguing with Steve when he wants it a little harsher. He knows better than anybody how much Steve can take. Bucky just hums and pulls Steve’s hips down, thrusting up lazily into him. “You’re all ready for me, aren’t you?”

“Been wanting this for a long time.” Steve closes his eyes, arches his back, and grinds down on Bucky’s hips.

Bucky whispers encouraging nonsense at Steve and braces his hips, giving Steve something to work against as he rocks back and thrusts against Bucky’s belly where it’s round and soft between them. Steve comes with a quiet little grunt, then goes pliant in Bucky’s arms and slurs out, “Now you go.”

Bucky can’t help but smile at that, but he takes Steve at his word, his thrusts speeding up until he’s coming deep inside Steve, hands tight around his thin biceps.

“Good?” Steve questions, flopping off Bucky and down on the mattress beside him.

“Good,” Bucky confirms, kissing Steve on the forehead. “‘S always good.”

“Hmm,” Steve hums, already mostly asleep. Steve sleeps like it’s his job, out within minutes of closing his eyes, damn near every time. Steve has fallen asleep _during a blow job_ before. To be fair, he’d just finished squeaking in some amazing art just under a pressing deadline, working day and night after a bout of artist’s block. Bucky’d been trying to reward him. The fourteen hours of sleep he got was probably reward enough.

Bucky just feels quiet after sex. Quiet in his muscles, quiet in his eyes, quiet in his head. He doesn’t really like to go to sleep immediately - it’s a little disconcerting for him. It’s like he’s not fully present, and when he wakes up he always feels a step off. But if he lays around for a little while first and comes back into his body a little bit, he’s good. Usually he takes that time to think about his next tat, or to wonder what Steve should get as the full back piece he claims he wants and will never, ever get.

That leads to Bucky touching Steve’s back - using his hand to measure and test placements. He’d like to see Steve covered in ink, looking more like Bucky is every day he lets Steve at him with his pens and designs. He’d tried to draw on Steve the way Steve does on him, but it hadn’t worked out the same. Steve’s ticklish, and Bucky’s not great with that kind of art. He needs to pick things up, set them down where he wants them, really get in there and get physical with it. Plus, once he gets Steve naked and relaxed under his hands, art really isn’t at the forefront of his thoughts.

But it doesn’t stop him from touching, from rubbing and caressing and thinking up hypotheticals. He flips the tv on and channel surfs for a while until he finds something innocuous enough to see if his brain will turn off, or if he’ll have to work his way through their Netflix queue.

Steve starts snoring softly next to him, falling deeper into sleep, and Bucky pulls the blanket up over his shoulder. He tries to sleep most nights, and usually he can, but he’s more likely to stare at the ceiling or give up and go do something, anything, if he’s not successful after a while.

Luckily, he and Steve have a fairly compatible work/sleep schedule. He’s not sure what he’d have done if he’d have fallen in love with someone with a nine-to-five, or someone as sensitive to distraction as he is himself. As it is, they both stay up pretty late, because the shop is open until midnight at least, 2 or 3 am on most Fridays and Saturdays, and afterward they hit the diner with some or all of their friends. So they usually roll into bed around the wee hours of the morning anyway.

Bucky is thankful for many things in this world, but blackout curtains are close to the top of his list.

Sometimes he has to do Real Life Grown Up Things that can’t be scheduled for the late afternoon, so he has to bail out early. No matter how quiet Steve is, Bucky always wakes up when he comes in. He usually acts like he’s asleep, and Steve doesn’t tell him, but Bucky’s pretty sure he knows he’s faking. Steve just gets ready for bed as quietly as he can and then crawls into bed, burrows his way half under Bucky with his cold hands and cold toes and his cold fucking nose. He kisses Bucky’s chest goodnight and drops off to sleep after Bucky wraps his arm around him, double-checking the alarm..

They have to be careful about what noises they use to wake up when they have to be somewhere in the mornings. Bucky has thrown many things across the room because they startled him awake.

Including Steve, once, when one August morning he accidentally stepped on the television remote on his way back from the bathroom and an old war movie came on mid-battle scene, at full volume.

Steve bought a contraption once that was supposed to mimic the sunrise, gradually lightening the room to wake them, and provide ‘gentle rousing’ from sleep, good for ‘violent wakers’.

“‘Violent wakers’ sounds like a band name, babe,” Bucky had laughed when Steve opened the delivery box and explained what was inside.

“Dibs!” Clint called.

But since their sleep schedule had literally nothing to do with the sun anyway, it didn’t help. Steve overslept every morning for a week before Bucky ended up throwing it across the room, too.

=====

 After a huge breakfast Steve accused Bucky of eating in front of him in public as payback for some untold wrong he’d committed, they stop into the bakery before opening the shop to introduce themselves to the proprietors.

“It’s Coulson’s baby band!” Bucky whispers to Steve.

“Sorry, what?” the brunette girl behind the cash register asks.

“Oh, um. No, because,” Steve stutters.

“Let me start from the end and work back to the beginning,” Bucky interrupts, saving a grateful Steve. “I’m Bucky, this is Steve. He owns the shop next door.”

“We own it,” Steve says.

“What?” Bucky looks down at Steve, confused.

“Yeah. Well, not officially yet. Coulson’s drawn up the papers, but you still have to sign them. But yeah. I mean. I figured with the wedding and all. You’d be entitled to half of it anyway, right?”

“That is a whole lot of information to parse,” a large man says, coming out from the back of the shop and wiping his hands on his apron. “Luckily I'm used to that around this gang. Most importantly, you know Coulson?”

Bucky’s still gaping at Steve, blinking rapidly, so Steve speaks up, holding out his hand for the very large, very tall smiling man to shake. “Yeah, we go way back. Bucky and I, our first date - “

“Second.”

“Second?"

Bucky nods. “Dinner was first, with the milkshakes, and then second was that basement show, with the Clint discussion. Remember?”

"Second date, right. Our second date was to see your band.” Steve addresses the last comment to the girl again.

“Oh, how lovely!”

“Ah,” the big guy says. “Before my time.”

“Yeah, get used to that feeling, man,” Bucky says. “Anyway, apparently we’re co-owners.” Bucky’s voice does something that Steve can’t figure out. “Wait. How does that work with Stark’s whole deal?”

“Okay, yes, _technically_ Stark still owns part of the shop, but I - now you and I - own the rest of it. That’s not really relevant right now, Bucky.” Steve’s eyes dart at their unwitting, yet captivated, audience.

“No, Steve, I think drawing up contracts is very rele-”

“Oh,” Steve sighs, shoulders sagging in relief. “That. No, I talked to Tony about it before Coulson started on the contracts. When all this goes to shit, he said he’d be willing to buy you out.”

Bucky stares at Steve.

Steve stares back. “If. If it all goes to shit, I mean.”

The girl clears her throat behind the counter, softly.

He shakes his head. “Anyway again. Steve and I” - there’s that thing with Bucky’s voice again - “are at the shop next door, we probably have a ton of friends in common, Coulson among them. We wanted to say hello, introduce ourselves, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Well, erm, it’s nice to meet you,” says a shifty-looking guy with curly hair, coming out from the kitchen area. “Fitz,” he says, pointing to himself, “and this is Jemma and Mack.” He points at the girl and guy respectively. “And Skye is … over… somewhere.”

“Just look for the computer.”

“We’ve got a couple of those, too,” Steve says. “Are those lemon bars?”

====

“So, you’re quiet,” Steve says, waiting for Bucky to unlock the door.

Bucky shrugs, unlocking the apartment door and letting Steve inside.

“You didn’t even stop to play with Fabi in the lobby when we came in.”

Bucky shrugs again.

“Are you mad?” Steve’s holding the bakery box of lemon bars in front of him like a shield.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Steve stands behind the table, setting the box down but not releasing it.

“Yes.”

“So you’re not mad about the shop?” Steve presses.

“Why would I be mad? Huh, Steve? Why would I be mad? Would have been nice to be consulted, but hey, who doesn’t like to be ambushed in public with the sudden acquisition of partial ownership of an incredibly popular tattoo shop from a guy who apparently makes contingency plans for, and I quote, ‘when this all goes to shit?’” Bucky’s voice raises with each word until he’s shouting by the end of his question. He leaves, slamming the door behind him.

“I knew you were mad,” Steve mutters to himself.

=====

Sam’s not going to admit to it, but he’s pretty sure he’s getting just as much of a workout holding the bag as Bucky is punching it.

“He. Always. Does. This,” Bucky says, hitting the heavy bag with both fists between words.

“I’m professionally obligated to point out the extreme statement, there,” Sam says, readjusting his stance and bracing for another volley of punches.

“But.”

“But I know Steve. He’s a living, walking, barely-breathing Always/Never statement.”

“The thing of it is,” Bucky says, with one last punch, “if he’d have asked for a prenup, I’d have said, ‘sure, Stevie, hand it over.’”

“You would?” Sam raises his eyebrows, wipes his arms down with a gym towel, and grabs his water bottle.

“It’s not like I’m excited about thinking about splitting our assets in the event of our tragic demise, romantically speaking, but.” Bucky shrugs and dumps the rest of his water bottle over his head. His arms are pleasantly sore now, but he’s going to be lucky to be able to move in the morning.

“Shit happens,” Sam fills in the blanks, stretching.

“That, my good man, it does. But he didn’t even ask. Like it’s fated to happen. Like. Like we’ve been over since before we even began. Like I’m only coincidentally there.”

“And you’ve discussed this with him?”

Bucky slumps. “This time?”

Sam nods. “I think it’s one of those ongoing things.”

“I’d rather keep hitting things.” Bucky straightens and moves behind the heavy bag as Sam warms up for his turn.

“That’s only going to help for so long,” Sam points out.

“Long enough.”

=====

When Bucky unlocks the apartment door, Steve’s standing in the middle of the room, phone in hand.

“He’s here, I’ll call you back,” he says, and drops the phone on the table. “Buck, I-”

“I’m going to take a shower,” Bucky drops his gym bag on the floor inside the front door. “Then we’ll talk.”

“Um. Okay,” Steve says, hunching his shoulders.

“What were you doing?” Bucky asks on his way into the bathroom, patting Steve’s shoulder on his way past.

Steve follows him. “Oh, I was trying to see if Tony could deliver a chair to the apartment. You said, before, if we had one-”

“We’d never fight again. Yeah, I remember,” he sighs.

Steve shrugs. “Worth a shot?”

Bucky turns the water on, keeps it cool enough that Steve won’t bother asking to join him and risks stripping down in full view of him anyway. He’s still angry, but he has cooled down. He knows Steve, as always, meant well. “This isn’t a joke.”

“I know. I know that. I’m sorry I didn’t consult you about whether you wanted to own part of the shop.”

“Thank you,” Bucky says, letting the water beat down on the back of his neck. Steve’s apartment gets insanely good water pressure. It’s one of the things he loves about this apartment. “I do, though.”

“You do? I mean, I figured you would. I wouldn’t have done this if I thought you wouldn’t. But you do?” Steve leans against the wall and twitched the shower curtain back just enough that he can watch Bucky.

“Coulda just asked,” Bucky says, ducking his head under the spray. “Wouldn’t have to worry about if you’re doing the right thing if you. Just. Asked.”

“I _know,_ Buck.” Steve twists his fingers together. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky sighs. “You come from a place of love.” Bucky squints one eye open as he’s shampooing his hair and flicks some water out at Steve.

“I really do.” Steve smiles weakly. “So, about the chair?”

Bucky doesn’t even pause in soaping himself up. “Too soon, Steve.”

“Shower sex?”

Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Nah, my arms are too sore to be holding your bony ass up against the wall.”

“Make-up blow job?” Steve offers, trailing one finger down Bucky’s chest.

“That’s more like it.” Bucky tips his head back to rinse off, reaches out to turn off the water.

“Okay, but on the bed. Your showers are too cold,” Steve says, leaving the bathroom, stripping as he walks toward the bed.

“I like how you think you’re in any position to be making demands,” Bucky says, wrapping a towel around his waist, drying himself just enough Steve won’t complain.

“I like how you’re following me to the bed anyway,” Steve says back, kneeling up on the mattress. “I really am sorry about not talking to you, though.”

“I know,” Bucky says, laying down, letting Steve settle between his legs. Steve always started the same way, kneading Bucky’s thighs and kissing across his stomach. This time, though, Steve dove right in, swallowing Bucky’s half-hard dick in one quick motion.

Bucky settles his hand on the back of Steve’s head and holds him still for a moment.

Steve moans, “Yes, like that, do that.”

“Do what?”

“Fuck my face. Come on, I’m trying to apologize, here.”

“You do owe me,” Bucky considers.

Steve licks him, base to tip, and then grazes his teeth over the head of Bucky’s dick.

“Oh, you little shit!” Bucky tightens his hands in his hair. Bucky fucking loves it when Steve pulls out his teeth; he knows exactly how to do it, never too much.

Steve grins at him, then dives back down, trying to deep-throat and not quite making it.

“Hey, hey,” Bucky says, tugging Steve’s hair again. “All games aside, you want it like this?”

Steve nods, “yes, yes, come on,” pulling against Bucky’s hands to get back to what he was doing.

“All right. All right, hold on,” Bucky says, and stands up.

Steve makes a forlorn little sound, but Bucky pulls him around so he’s lying on his back, tipping his head off the side of the mattress. He guides himself back into Steve’s mouth. From this angle, all he has to do is bend forward, just slightly, and he can press his stomach down onto Steve, he can reach down and jack him, match his strokes to Steve’s desperate noises as he sucks Bucky sweet and perfect.

“There now. That’s nice. So good to me, so _good_ , Steve.”

Steve’s hands clench on Bucky’s ass at that, and he pulls him in, covering his teeth with his lips and sucking hard, just right, exactly what Bucky needs to finish.

“Want it on you?” he asks, but Steve clenches his fingers even harder and Bucky’s got no choice, he’s coming before he even knows it, and Steve takes it all.

He slumps down onto the bed next to Steve and manages a wet kiss to Steve’s hip as Steve finishes himself off.

“Now. About that chair,” Bucky mumbles.

=====

Bucky pulls his hair out of the little knot at the back of his neck and shakes it out. He hates it when his hair flies into his mouth, but he loves it when Steve pulls on it, so it’s probably here to stay. At least for now. It’s hot and he’s sweaty, though, so he tucks it right back up and sits in the shade, watching the rest of the morning joggers pass.

“Hey, Bucky! Did you just finish a run?” Jeanie’s all decked out for a jog, finishing her stretching and adjusting her earphones.

Bucky leans back against the tree. He drains the rest of his water before answering, “Um, yes?”

“Right, that was dumb.” She blushes, eying him in a way she probably thinks is subtle.

Bucky sees Sam and Maria, having finished fifteen minutes ago or so, walking over to him. “Looked good, man,” Sam says as he reaches down, grabs Bucky around his forearm and helps him up.

“Forty-three seventeen,” Bucky says proudly. “It’s not a new record, but it’s not my worst time ever.”

“Okay, well, I should ...” Jeanie glances over her shoulder and then back to Sam and Maria. “Go?” It’s not quite a question, but it’s not a statement, either.

“Okay, see you later,” Maria says, smiling.

Jeanie smiles back at her, taking off on her jog. “Congratulations on your time, Bucky!”

“Where’s Steve?” Sam asks.

“He had an appointment.”

“Speaking of…” Maria says, jerking her heard in the direction Jeanie just took off in. “Does he know about that little crush?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and Sam’s grin grows wider. “Does anyone not know?”

“She’s harmless, I’m telling you. She’s a sweet kid, and I’ve made it clear that I’m off the market.”

“With your big boy words?” Sam asks.

“Is there no such thing as confidentiality in your field, Wilson? Yes, with words. And visual aids.” Bucky waves his ring finger in front of Sam’s face, where his own til death tattoo is etched.

“I will never get over the fact that out of everyone in the group, you and Steve are the ones with matching tattoos.” Maria shakes her head.

“We’re fucking romantics, and you’re jealous,” Bucky shakes the last couple of drops of water out of his bottle over her head.

=====

“Fitz! Mack! How’s it going?” Clint calls out, sauntering over to the display cases. “We want one of everything!”

Fitz squeaks awkwardly and then ducks into the back, leaving Mack alone to man the front of the shop.

“We don’t _actually_ want one of everything,” Bucky says carefully, watching the door swing behind Fitz.

“Yeah, he does that,” Mack says, wiping his flour-covered hands on his apron. “What’ll it be, boys?”

Bucky turns away from Clint and heads to the pastry cases. “Definitely an eclair, Steve likes those.”

“Do you want some of this shortbread?” Clint calls out.

Bucky shakes his head. “No cookies.”

“Oh, right. You and Steve’s thing.”

Mack sets the box with Bucky’s eclair on the counter. “They have a cookie thing?”

“It’s a whole … cookie … thing.” Clint waves his hand in a circle in the air.

“Okay. It’s a cookie thing,” Mack says, shrugging it off.

“I know,” Bucky smiles, sympathizing. “You get used to it. Eventually you get the back stories with this group. Doesn’t make anything make any more sense, but you will get them.”

“I’m a patient man,” Mack says, taking out a couple of cherry turnovers when Bucky points to them.

“It’d help if you’d come hang out with us at the club sometimes,” Clint says, his hands in his pockets as he looks over the muffins and scones.

“We run a bakery, Clint, we’re up at three in the morning,” Simmons says, carrying a tray out of the kitchen. They can see Fitz in the back, fussing with a mixer.

“We’re up at three in the morning, too, you know,” Clint says, waving to Fitz as the door swings shut again.

“Just from the other side,” Bucky explains.

“Am I ever going to get to know why Fitz is afraid of that one?” Mack asks, pointing to where Clint is still deciding on cookies, whistling along to the tinkly indie music they play incessantly in the bakery.

“He thinks I might kill him,” Clint calls, without looking back.

“Please don’t,” Mack says.

“I won’t. I said he thinks I might, not that I ever said I was gonna.”

“See, this is what I told you.” Bucky points and nods to an apple muffin. “You eventually get the backstories. Sometimes you have to push it a little bit, though. Clint, why does Fitz think you might kill him?”

“He’s got the hots for Coulson.”

Mack straightens. “I know for a fact that he doesn’t.”

Clint smiles. “Tenses are hard. He had the hots for Coulson. He interned at the label when me and Coulson first got together. He didn’t know we were together, it wasn’t anything nefarious.”

“ _Nefarious_ you know, _mandolin_ you have a problem with.” Bucky mutters under his breath. “Two orange scones, that’ll do it for me.”

“So, what, did you warn him to back up off your man or something?” Mack asks.

“No, nothing like that. I didn’t even know until Coulson told me I had to quit scaring his interns and play nice. So now when I see him, I smile, like this” - Clint shows way too many teeth in a feral-looking grin - “he squeaks and runs away. I don’t know, man. I just. Don’t. Know.”

Bucky ducks his head and grins. Mostly, Clint’s an open book, but times like this, he honestly has no idea if he’s being played or not. It’s easy to forget Clint’s a grown man with a master’s degree and combat experience. Bucky’s convinced Clint knows it and likes it that way.

Mack watches Clint for a few seconds longer. “So, you decide which pastries you want, or what?”

=====

“Shots!” Darcy yells, setting a tray down in the middle of the table and passing out glasses all around.

Beside him, Bucky senses Pepper tense up. She’s already excused herself to the restroom the previous two times Darcy’s returned to the table with their drinks. Tony and Coulson are deep in conversation behind her now, though, accidentally blocking her in. She bites her lip.

As soon as Darcy plops their drinks in front of them, Bucky reaches out and snags the two glasses in his right hand, and shoots them one after the other. By the time Natasha’s finished saying “Salut!” Pepper’s got an empty glass in her hand and a grateful look on her face.

Bucky smiles back at her. “They told me the Army would teach me valuable life skills.”

“Thanks -” Pepper starts.

“You need to go get your boy,” Clint says, tapping Bucky on the shoulder and then sliding up tight to Coulson.

It’s never a good sign when Clint’s seeking shelter. “What, why?” he looks around the table, but Steve isn’t there.

Clint shrugs, somehow wedging himself even closer to Coulson. “Oh, no big deal. I think he might kill Jeanie.”

“Jeanie’s here?”

Coulson raises an eyebrow and Clint almost chokes on his mouthful of beer. “That is not the part of my message you need to be paying attention to right now.”

“Twenty bucks says the girl can take him,” Tony says as Bucky stands up, trying to maneuver himself out of the knot of people around their corner of the club.

“Sucker’s bet! Of course the girl can take him,” Clint shoots back. “She’s got three inches and thirty pounds on him!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky waves his hand behind him as he turns to find Steve. It’s not like Jeanie’s in any real danger. She does have the size advantage after all.

Steve’s up on his toes, leaning his chest and shoulders across a high-top table opposite Jeanie. His hair’s flopping in his face and he isn’t even trying to brush it out of his eyes, but his voice is calm and quiet, just loud enough to carry across the table.

Maybe Jeanie’s in more danger than Bucky thought.    

“It’s not like the punk scene is an _American Idol_ audition, Jeanie. You’re holding him to a standard that doesn’t fucking apply.”

“But the fact of the matter is he can’t even sing! You didn’t even try to defend him.” Jeanie crosses her arms in triumph.

Steve presses his hands flat against the table top. “Neither can Neil Young and it never stopped him.”

“Who?”

Steve splutters. “What? Are you fucking. What? How are you. Okay, listen. Pop music and punk music are fundamentally, diametrically opposed! And the fact that you’ve never heard of him doesn’t mean jack!”

“Babe?” Bucky interrupts, placing his hand between Steve’s shoulder blades.

“Hi, Bucky!” Jeanie chirps, her slight frown from arguing with Steve melting into what is probably supposed to be a flirty smile.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Hi.”

“Tell her, Buck!” Steve tugs on Bucky’s jacket hem, insistent.

“Steve’s right,” Bucky says automatically.

“See!” Steve says.

“That doesn’t count, he’s only saying that because you’re here.”

Bucky nods until Steve turns to look at him. Quickly, he shakes his head, trying to look innocent. “What am I telling her?”

“That Tim Armstrong is one of the most important influences on our culture,” Steve says, like he’s explaining a very simple concept to a small child.

“I … don’t know who that is,” Bucky admits.

“See!” Jeanie says.

“Yes you do!” Steve shouts, turning around and tipping his head back. Somehow, Steve still manages to look commanding, even with Bucky towering over him from this close.

“Okay,” Bucky says, sliding his arm around Steve’s waist. “Except: no I don’t.”

Steve slides back off his toes and turns to let his head softly hit the table. “Fine. Fine.”

Bucky rubs his hand firmly up and down Steve’s back. Rum always makes him touchy-feely. “You’re still right, though. That much I know for sure.”

Jeanie pouts a little from her side of the table.

“Bucky, I need a drink. And you and I have a date with my albums.” Steve tugs on his hand to drag him over to the bar.

“Yay.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or not.”

“And you don’t care,” Bucky smiles, ghosting his free hand up Steve’s arm.

“And I don’t care,” Steve confirms.

“Can I come?” Jeanie asks, hurrying up behind the two of them, somehow unaware of the charged atmosphere between Steve and Bucky.

“Uh. This is probably a private type of date,” Bucky explains, pressing up behind Steve at the bar and playing his fingers over the points of Steve’s hipbones above where his jeans have slid down. Distantly, he thinks he needs to be concerned about that. Steve doesn’t have weight to lose.  

Steve rolls his eyes. “Definitely a private type of date. I can make a playlist for you, though, if you’re interested.”

“Later,” Bucky mumbles into Steve’s hair.

“Later,” Steve echoes, leaning back into Bucky a little.

“Oh.” Jeanie pouts. “Well, I still think you’re wrong.”

“Yeah, okay,” Steve says distractedly.

“Still want that drink?” Bucky asks.

Steve shakes his head.

“Want to take me home?”

Steve nods.

“Bye.” Jeanie says softly. Bucky waves a little half-heartedly as Steve pulls him toward the door.

“Hey, slow down, babe.”

“Just keep walking,” Steve says, grip firm on Bucky’s hand. He’s determined, walking quickly through the chilly autumn night, pulling Bucky along behind him.

“I just want you to keep breathing. You’re no good to me if you’re passed out.”

“Wanna get _home_ ,” Steve says, tugging Bucky’s hand.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky stops dead in his tracks, and at the next tug Steve gives to his hand, he leans just slightly backward, pulling him slightly off balance. He grabs Steve under his arms, quickly, and spins them, shoving Steve back against a building and lifting him off his toes. “What have you gotta get home for?”

Steve gasps and wiggles his way higher, locks his knees on Bucky’s sides. He presses his back against the wall, his thick hoodie soft behind him cushioning the blow, and Bucky clenches his fingers over and over on Steve’s thighs where he’s holding him up. Steve’s hips stutter as he thrusts slightly against Bucky’s stomach.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Bucky growls into Steve’s neck, biting down softly, making Steve gasp again. Neither of them are ever loud, exactly, even at home. But Steve makes a lot of constant, very quiet noises when Bucky’s fucking him. He’s all quick breaths and quiet moans and little wet, panting, bitten-off sounds. Bucky tends to be more subdued, quieter until the end when it’s a rough growl or a long groan or a bitten off, “Fuck, Steve, yes.”

Steve digs his hands into Bucky’s shoulders and pushes. “No, home, I want a _bed_. It’s _cold_ out here _._ ”

Bucky chuckles and sets Steve down gently. “The sacrifices I make for you.”

“Home.”

Bucky adjusts himself quickly and picks up the pace. When they reach the apartment door, Steve crowds into Bucky from behind, pushing his fingertips into Bucky’s belly, trying to wedge them under his waistband. Bucky barely has time to pull the key back out of the lock and shut the door behind them before Steve’s shoving him toward the bed.

“Off, off, off,” he mutters as he’s unbuttoning and wiggling out of his clothes. It’s quicker if they both take care of themselves, they’ve found, and speed is definitely their top priority. Steve pushes him down again, and Bucky goes easily. Steve straddles him and drags his hands over Bucky’s chest, soft and warm over his muscles. He backs his way down, biting kisses into Bucky’s pecs, pausing to tug on his nipple ring, making him gasp and pull at Steve’s hair.

“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says, but Steve just moans, presses his head backward into Bucky’s hands before continuing downward.

Bucky takes the cue and cups the back of Steve’s head, waits for Steve to start tonguing at his belly button and presses Steve’s face down into the softness of his stomach. Steve makes an unholy noise at that, a muffled moan that makes Bucky’s dick jump in response.

When he lets up, Steve’s breathing hard, and he trails his tongue down again, tracing over the red lines where Bucky’s jeans have been pressing into him, finally taking Bucky into his mouth.

Bucky says all kind of nonsense when Steve’s sucking him, mostly just words, how good it feels, how pretty Steve looks, how hot he’s making him. For his part, Steve sucks, the faintest brush of his teeth along Bucky’s shaft then, pulling off to lick his way back down. His hands slide across Bucky’s belly.  

“Gonna finish me off down there, or want me to fuck you, baby?”

Steve’s fingers dig in hard, and he redoubles his efforts, sucking even harder and doing that thing with his tongue that makes Bucky’s eyes roll up in his head. He tugs on Steve’s hair and warns him, and Steve pulls back, jacking Bucky off and bending down so that when he comes, it hits Steve across his cheek and nose, just how he likes it.

Steve’s mouth makes a damn near perfect O, and Bucky has a hard time keeping his eyes open enough to watch. As soon and he’s done coming, Steve’s climbed on top of him, pushing his dick down into Bucky’s belly and thrusting hard, half a dozen times until he comes, too, hard and fast and whining high in his throat.

He collapses on Bucky’s chest, and Bucky holds him still, listening to Steve pant, making sure his breathing is harsh, but not wheezing, everything normal and safe. He strokes his thumb through his come on Steve’s face and sucks it into his mouth. Even if Steve isn’t watching him, he knows what he’s doing, and his dick give a slight twitch at the movement.

Steve likes it when Bucky kisses him on top of his head, so he does. He’s admitted that he never liked it from anyone else; it’s always seemed condescending. But when Bucky does it, it’s different somehow, and he likes it. He doesn’t do it during sex, really, because the logistics don’t really work that way, but he always does it after for him.

Bucky strokes his hand softly down Steve’s bony back, counting Steve’s ribs all the way back up. He’s going to have to pay closer attention, make sure Steve’s remembering to eat. He’s been busy, and Steve has a nasty habit of putting off lunch until he’s finished ‘just one more thing.’ By the time he gets around to remembering he’s hungry, he’s either too tired to do anything about it, or he’s come all the way around again to not hungry at all.

Bucky drifts off for a few minutes, thinking about getting up to clean them off, but too lethargic from the fantastic orgasm to bother with moving right away. Steve’ll be bitchy if he wakes up with come dried on his face again, no matter how much he likes it in the moment.

“Love you, Steve,” he whispers into Steve’s hair before sitting up. Steve mumbles something that Bucky knows by now is “love you, too,” and he snuffles around in the warm spot Bucky just vacated.

=====

“Oh, this guy!” Bucky says when Steve’s working on his Education of Jeanie playlist while the shop’s slow. Steve’s started scheduling only a few appointments a week to give his hands a break now that the damp fall weather has settled in, and he can never tell how stiff his hands will be from day to day. “I know this guy.”

“Yeah, I know. I told you,” Steve says distractedly.

Bucky waits for Steve to look up at him. “She’s not wrong. He definitely would not win American Idol.”

Steve snorts out a laugh. “I’d at least watch that season, though.”

“Hey,” Bucky says, leaning against the jewelry case. “Tony brought by a dozen cupcakes from the bakery. They’ve got this gorgeous fluffy vanilla bean icing. Wanna eat ‘em with me?” Bucky grins.

Steve reaches for one absently, attention fully off the playlist and onto Bucky now, and takes a bite while watching the way he’s licking the top of his first. His tongue curls through the airy frosting before he takes a big bite, half the cupcake disappearing at once.

Steve has to reach down and adjust himself in his pants with one hand, and he takes another bite of the cupcake in his other.

“Um,” Bucky says, mouth full of cupcake.

“What?” Steve asks. His breath is coming a little fast, but Bucky. Icing. Tongue.

“These are all the same, right?” He’s examining the box, looking for an ingredient label.

“I guess?” Steve’s throat feels a little tight. He coughs.

“You still keep your epipen in the cash register?”

Steve nods. He’s not turned on. He cracks the cupcake in his hand in half. Oh. “Damn,” he tries to say, but no sound makes its way out of his throat.

=====

"I'm sorry I let this happen to you," Tony says, voice tight.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Steve slurs out before falling back asleep.

“You didn’t know,” Bucky tells him.

“He’s going to be fine,” Coulson says.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, holding Steve’s hand and bending over it, kissing Steve’s cold knuckles. He has to take a deep breath and remind himself that Steve’s knuckles are always cold. It has nothing to do with the fact that he almost died. Which he didn’t. At all. Not even close. And if Bucky keeps repeating that to himself, eventually he’ll have to start believing it.

“Right. Just a little allergic reaction. Pepper’s allergic to strawberries, and she’s fine. She’s always fine. Steve’s fine, too. He’s fine,” Tony says.

Tony talks a big game, but he hasn’t left the hospital in the last seven hours since they brought Steve in. Even though he had to stay in the ER waiting room the whole time. Eventually the nurses took pity on him, or more likely they wanted to shut him up and get him out of their hair - Coulson said he threatened to buy the hospital and change the rules - and they let him come on back to Steve’s little curtained-off area.

“It’s just this one particular brand of food dye,” Bucky says. “He’s usually pretty careful, but it’s a rare brand and he, um,  wasn’t paying attention.”

Tony makes a face, but refrains from comment. He raps twice on the wall. “I’m gonna update the gang.”

“Thank you, Tony. Bucky? Do you want Clint to stop and bring you guys anything?”

“No.” Bucky shakes his head. “They’ll release him soon. Shouldn’t be more than a couple hours, and even then he’s just going to sleep some more.”

“He’s right here,” Steve says without opening his eyes. “He can hear you. Stop talking about him.”

Tony nods. “I’ll send a car. It’ll be waiting for you out front.”

“That’s not necessary, Tony, I can-”

“It is _entirely_ necessary,” Tony interrupts Coulson, emphatically.

“I want the limo this time,” Steve slurs from the bed.

Tony lets out a watery chuckle. “You got it, hash brown.”

“Hear that, Buck? We get to go home in a limo.” Steve smiles tiredly.

“Well, that makes all of this totally worth it, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks, grazing his lips across Steve’s knuckles again.

Steve pulls the corner of his mouth down into a frown. “It was a really good cupcake, too.”

Bucky sighs. “Yeah, it really was. I’ve never had blue velvet before.”

“Don’t worry,” Coulson says, leaning over his laptop. “It’s just vanilla. They’ll be changing their dyes going forward.” He looks up when everyone in the room seems to freeze in place.

“What?” he asks off Bucky’s incredulous look. “I didn’t tell them to do it. They just. Heard about Steve’s reaction and Fitz called me to tell me.”

“They heard about it,” Bucky says flatly.

“Yes,” Coulson replies, focusing extra hard on his laptop.

“Where’s Clint, Coulson?”

“Hmm? Sorry, this is a very important business email. I need to concentrate,” Coulson says.

“Thanks.”

=====

Steve still refuses to go to the store on Sundays, because Jeanie.

For all that they’ve discussed that whole situation, and it’s pretty apparent at this point that Jeanie barely even qualifies as an acquaintance, Steve just doesn’t like her. It’s not that he’s jealous. He maintains he was never jealous of her.

“Steve, please,” Peggy says, setting her teacup back down on the table in the corner of her shop. This week she’s open for business Tuesdays from five in the morning until five in the evening  and alternating Sundays. She turned record profits last month.

No one really knows how Peggy’s managed to keep the boutique open and profitable this long except Pepper and Peggy herself. Clint claims sorcery.

He’s only mostly kidding.

Whatever the cause, the boutique does bring in money. It does a little better than breaking even most months, enough that Peggy doesn’t really need to worry about it too much. It leaves her free to focus on her secondary source of income and true passion of designing clothing for all types, including one-of-a-kind gowns for upscale society ladies.

And Clint.

She and Steve are in the little anteroom where wedding parties come and pass judgement on the dresses that have been picked for them while sipping mineral water or champagne, depending on how terrible the bride’s taste is. At least, that’s how Natasha explained it to Clint, and Clint passed his knowledge on to Steve. Steve’s not planning on having bridesmaids, and he’s not even sure he’s going to invite people to the actual ceremony yet. There will be a party for the reception, but he’s not coordinating outfits for it.

The building used to house gangsters back in the day. Out back, there are still scars in the brick that locals claim are from a shootout. The fitting rooms are part of the secret passageway to the old speakeasy, and it’s rumored to be haunted.

Clint swears it is, and won’t step foot inside. Ever. That’s why they don’t have the Halloween party there, even though the atmosphere would be far better than anything Stark could ever come up with.

(They tried it once, but Clint walked in, turned around, and walked right back out. He didn’t even care that it made his tiara almost fall off his head.

Tony bought him a Ouija board the next day and Clint wouldn’t speak to him until new year’s when he was too drunk to remember he was still mad.)

“No, I’m not jealous, and I never was,” Steve says.

“Never?” Peggy purses her lips.

“Never when she wasn’t trying to fatten Bucky up on Oreos like some polo-shirt-wearing name-brand fairy tale Hansel and Gretel witch,” Steve clarifies.

“You do know,” Peggy starts.

Steve interrupts her with a quick downward slash of his hand. “I know that wasn’t what she was doing. Probably. ’S more just the idea of her, of what she represents. She’s … normal. She’s cute and feminine and not going to die eating cupcakes. She probably doesn’t even get off on people eating cupcakes. She’s got a nice wholesome background and a nice wholesome future and she’s probably what Bucky’s mom always pictured when she thought about his future spouse.”

“No mother could ask for a better son-in-law than you.”

“Right, unless they weren’t asking for a son-in-law at all.”

“You didn’t say she had a problem with you being a man when you visited her. Do you think that will be an issue?”

Steve sighs with his whole body. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But I don’t think she’s really known for her forward thinking skills? It probably hasn’t even occurred to her yet.”

Steve nods when Peggy holds the teapot up to silently ask him if he wants a refill.

“I mean, she’s very nice, and she was lovely to me for all six waking hours I was with her before I stole her nearly-catatonic, anxiety-riddled son away from her again, after she hadn’t seen him for two years, and after he lied to her about almost dying in some classified jungle, and after he showed up about eighty pounds heavier than the last time she saw him dragging a scrawny little boyfriend home with him.” He tries to catch his breath.

Privately, Steve thinks maybe she should have played more of a role in Buckys formative years if she wanted any input into his spousal choices, but he’s not dumb enough to voice those opinions out loud to Bucky. Bucky has a little bit of a blind spot when it comes to his mom.

Peggy, however, is not spared so easily. He’s been pouring his heart out to her all afternoon.

“It’s not that, though. If his mom’s opinion mattered that much, you’d probably have fought about it … ever. Trust me. Nothing brings out the claws like family.” Peggy stirs her tea, the spoon clinking against the side of the china cup softly.

“Do we need to make this about you for a while?” Steve asks. Maria’s family had made their feelings on things clear when they kicked her out when she was a teenager. “I know I’ve had it easy, relatively speaking. We both have.”

Peggy shakes her head. “What is it, then? What’s got you feeling sorry for yourself and drinking tea in my shop at two in the afternoon?”

Steve takes a deep breath and lets the words come out in a rush. “He’s so good with kids, Peg.”

Peggy smiles. “That’s usually an attribute one looks for in a spouse.”

“Unless one doesn’t. Want. Kids.”

“He doesn’t.”

“And that’s why I said I don’t believe him. How can he not?“

“You don’t,” Peggy says primly.

“Yeah, but I’m awful with kids. I don’t like them, I don’t understand them, I don’t want them. Bucky’s just too good with them. He’s good with the kids at the rec center, his whole face lights up when we’re at the diner and someone with a baby comes in. I’ve lost him to the joys of puffer-fish faces and across-the-room finger-waggles and the jingling of car keys at the register more than once.”

“He is adorable around infants.”

“See? And sure, Bucky’s content with playing with Fabi now, but how long is that really going to hold him over? He babysits sometimes when I’m at the shop and Jo needs to run an errand.” Steve sighs. “I’m just still not entirely sold on the idea that Bucky really and truly doesn’t want children of his own. Maybe not biologically his own, but his own to raise and love and care for.”

Peggy arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. She must have gone round to see Clint recently. She can never manage to keep them even when she plucks them herself. “And you’ve talked about this?”

“It’s come up,” Steve evades.

“Do you not remember what happens when the two of you do not explicitly state your intentions and desires?”

“Yeah. He pukes on my shoes and we break up for a week.” Steve quirks up the side of his mouth.

“If I recall correctly, he missed your shoes.”

Steve buries his face in his hands and groans. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Well, it was a spectacular example of you once again missing the larger point of matters.”

“I do that kind of a lot, don’t I?”

Peggy nods and sips her tea. “For someone with such lofty ideals, Steve, you certainly do. Go talk to him.”

=====

Bucky’s getting ready for bed when he trips over one of Steve’s socks. Steve leaves them all over, especially on the bathroom floor, and they end up in the strangest places.

“Dammit, Steve,” he mutters. It wouldn’t bother Bucky, except then Steve steals all of his socks, and Bucky has none. He could give a shit about clothing, but socks are important. Bucky likes them thick and soft and dry and clean, and it bugs him when they’re not all of those things. Steve only wears socks because if he doesn’t, his toes turn blue.

Bucky finishes drinking his second glass of water, twisting the faucet off a little harder than necessary. It’s been dripping and Steve can’t stand the thought of wasting water. He’s been rigging up some kind of dustpan contraption and insisting Bucky haul a half-full bucket of water up to the roof to water his plants every morning when they wake up.

“I’ll call the super in the morning.”

“I’m right here,” Bucky says, crowding into Steve’s space, pushing him back against the wall and nipping at his jaw, socks forgotten for now.

“What?”

“I’ll fix it. That’s what they pay me for.”

“Who?” Steve says, pupils dilating as he twists around, lets Bucky move him where he wants him.

“The building management, I guess?” Bucky pins Steve’s wrists above his head for a moment, kisses his palms and down his wrists.

Steve arches his back, pushes against Bucky a bit. "When did that happen?"

"I don’t know, sometime last year?" Bucky shrugs, then takes Steve by the wrists and draws him over to their bed.

"Last _year_?” Steve bounces a little when he hits the mattress.

Bucky climbs on top of him, carefully pulling Steve’s ankles up over his shoulders, nipping kisses up Steve’s calves and thighs. "Yeah? I helped Jo out with her air conditioner, and she told Mrs. O’Leary, and she told Mr. Horowicz - "

"God rest his soul."

"Yeah. Anyway, turned out the regular guy had to go take care of his grandkids when their mom went into rehab or something?" Bucky shrugs again, fingers finally closing on the bottle of lube on Steve’s side of the bed and straightening up over him. He waits for his slight dizziness to fade. He really hadn’t intended to drink quite so much. He’s going to have to have a talk with Pepper next time he sees her. Someone else needs to start doubling up and taking her share of shots if she’s not going to.

"Where w-was I?" Steve stutters, reaching down to give Bucky’s dick a few quick strokes.

“Mmm, right about here.” Bucky leans down, sucks at Steve’s neck.

“No, you goon,” Steve gasps when Bucky hits a good spot. “Where - where was I when you took on yet another job?”

"Getting ready for the convention." Bucky arranges a pillow under his hips. “Like this?”

Steve nods. "Oh. Right. Guess I was - oh, _shit_ , Bucky, do that again! I was busy? So you’re our super. Also the general maintenance guy at the Rec Center and Tony’s Club, and you fix all the stuff at the shop.”

“You should really pay more attention,” Bucky says, pouring lube over his fingers.

“Sorry. Just. H-how many jobs do you have?"

“Ones that pay me? Like, six? But it’s not like they’re real jobs or anything. It’s just stuff I do to keep busy. But I was referring to the fact that I’m about two seconds from fucking you. You should pay more attention to that.”

“I am paying attention to that!” Steve says.

“You’re more interested in my employment than you are in my dick. I’m hurt. I’m hurt and offended.” Bucky twists his hand, two fingers into Steve slow and steady.

“I. I’m. M-multitasking.”

“Then clearly I am not doing a good enough job.” He pulls his fingers out and replaces them with his cock, one hard, quick shove into Steve that has him biting his lip hard and moaning low in his throat.

Steve shuts his eyes and stops talking. Bucky likes to keep his eyes open, though. There’s nothing he likes better than this, holding him down, wrapping his hands around Steve’s bony hips. He likes to see as well as feel the way Steve twitches when Bucky’s stretching him out, the way Steve’s face gives away all the things he doesn’t have words for.

It doesn’t take long before Bucky’s done for, his hips losing their rhythm as he watches himself slide in and out of Steve, finally pushing in hard, and last, long thrust that pushes him over the edge.

=====

Steve sits down in their booth while Bucky’s talking to Natasha. He’s exhausted; it’s been a long week with some important work due for Antoine’s magazine, and Steve’s hands ache from cramming right up to the deadline. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to do the sessions he’s booked for tomorrow, and more than that, he’s not sure what that means for his future.

Antoine’s been sending him more details on the documentary he has in mind, mostly just brainstorming sessions he’s writing down to a mostly judgement-free audience, and Steve’s intrigued. He’s interested enough that he’s bugged Coulson about the legal logistics, and he’s even considering bring Tony in on the financing aspects. But he just got the shop’s paperwork settled with Bucky; he isn’t sure how to approach him with this, too. Bucky’s gotta have a line somewhere, and Steve would rather cross it later than sooner.

Ruby comes over to the table with menus, but Steve tells her to keep them. He asks about her grandchildren and her tennis lessons and if the new hand cream Peggy, Bruce, and the Simmons girl at the cupcake shop all recommended is working for her.

“You want the special for your fella, honey?”

Steve nods, and waits for Bucky and Natasha to sit down already.

Ruby winks at him and when she brings the hot roast beef sandwich, extra gravy and triple mashed potatoes out for them. Steve still doesn’t know if Ruby knows about them and sympathizes, or if she’s just a waitress who’s seen it all. He supposes it doesn’t much matter; she’s not phased by it one way or the other, and Bucky gets to eat his fill and Steve gets to watch, so it’s all good.

Bucky sits back with a grin, taking his arm from around Steve’s shoulders to pull one of the plates closer to himself. "How’d you know?"

"You mentioned it the other day, that your mom made them sometimes in the winter, and when the leaves are all almost gone off the trees you always want roast beef sandwiches. So I called Ruby and asked if she could add it to the menu." Steve shrugs and looks away.

“I knew I was your favorite.”

“By far,” Steve confirms, and starts eating. Natasha has a small salad waiting for her on the other side of the booth, but she’s still across the room talking to a group of her friends Steve only knows as friends of friends.

“You ever going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Bucky takes a break from his sandwich and waits for Steve to look up at him.

“It’s nothing.”

“Untrue.”

“No, really. I’m just tired, I guess.”

“I’m the one who’s supposed to get moody in August,” Bucky says, with a smile that’s more grimace than anything. It’s meant to lighten the mood.

“It’s October,” Steve points out.

“And that’s why you’re moody and not me?” Bucky asks, still trying to get Steve to open up.

“I’m not moody.” Steve pushes his mashed potatoes around on his plate.

“There’s something eating you up, though.” Bucky stops Steve’s fork with his own, and scoops up a large helping of potatoes off his plate. “Did you bring one of Clint’s ghosts with you from Peggy’s?”

Steve chokes, almost spitting his drink across the table at Bucky. “Fuck, don’t let him hear you making fun. He stayed with me for _three days_ after Coulson didn’t believe him.”

“Fuck, really?”

Steve nods. “His heartbroken face is a million times worse than his puppy dog eyes.“ Steve shakes his head, letting Bucky push his bad mood away. “I really am just tired.”

Bucky watches him for another minute, but lets it go. “You are the worst damn liar I’ve ever met.”

=====

“We’re not planning a wedding,” Steve announces at the shop while he’s setting up.

“You broke up? No, you can work it out, whatever stupid self-righteous thing you did -” Tony looks like he’s about to cry.

“No! No, we didn’t break up, and hey, why would it be my fault?”

Tony levels a look at Steve.

‘Yeah, okay, it would probably be my fault.” Steve hates admitting that, especially because Jeanie is waiting on the sofa for her appointment, and even though he’s not speaking to her directly, she can hear him and she is a part of their group, in some way. At least as far as the group’s gossip goes.

“I’m sure it’s very difficult being in a relationship with someone as chill as Bucky,” Tony says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “But you get no sympathy from me, because you only have to deal with one of him. Imagine how it is for me.”

“Your life, so hard,” Bruce says dryly.

“So what’s all this wedding nonsense?” Tony throws a small wrench in Bruce’s general direction.

“I’m just saying, we’re not planning a wedding. It’s just. It’s not us. We don’t want a hassle.”

“Is this a we-we, or a you-and Bucky’s going along with it because of the aforementioned chill factor-we?” Bruce asks.

“It’s a we-we.”

“Ha. Wee-wee.”

“Jesus, Tony.” Steve sighs. “We’re going to the courthouse. Clint said he and Coulson would be our witnesses.”

Coulson nods his confirmation.

“And then we’ll have a party after.”

“I can cancel DJ night. Wanna get hitched next Tuesday, Gummy Bear?”

“No,” Steve huffs, trying to explain. “It’s not going to be some kind of shotgun affair. Just. It’s not going to be some kind of huge event, either.”

“ So …” Bruce hesitates. “ A wedding?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “Just not a _wedding_. Also, Bucky and I were talking last night and he said his mom and sister were going to try to come out for the holidays, finish the visit we promised them. We were thinking about maybe doing it then.”

“It’s good for tax purposes,” Coulson says, jumping in to the conversation. “You’ll get the benefit for the whole year, even if you weren’t married for all of it. Given the level of both of your incomes, it really makes sound financial sense.”

Tony, Bruce, and Steve all turn to stare at him. Even Jeanie puts her magazine down and stops pretending like she isn’t eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry. Sometimes I can’t turn off my inner lawyer. Please don’t tell Clint I said that.”

“Fucking-A right!” Tony crows. “Finally, finally we have blackmail material against Coulson!”

“Yes, dear,” Bruce sighs. “The aberrant lifestyle he lives with his significantly younger same-sex partner and the insanely lucrative hobby he has of writing kinky erotica for lonely housewives aside, we now have blackmail material in the form of Coulson’s law degree.”

“You know what, Banner? Just for that, I’m telling Pepper _you_ used up the last of the sriracha.” Tony turns on his heel and stalks out of the tattoo shop. Bruce follows closely, begging for his forgiveness as two confused looking young women come in.

“Don’t mind them,” Peggy says from the front counter. “They don’t really work here. Well. They’re not artists here. How can I help you today?”

“Jeanie,” Steve calls. “Come on back.”

Jeanie steps up next to the chair and takes off her flannel shirt, leaving her in just her tank top. Steve finishes his set up and wheels his stool over to her side. He makes a mark on her shoulder and tapes the sketch in place. “How’s that?”

Jeanie nods tensely. “Good, yeah.”

“Hey, no. Deep breath, come on,” Steve says gently. He takes her hand and presses the mirror into it, holding it for her. “I don’t do work my customers aren’t absolutely in love with. Check it out.”

Jeanie considers, slumps forward and then straightens her posture. “Could you. Um. Could you move it up a little? So that his head is right,” she points, “here?”

Steve peels up the tape and replaces the sketch. “Like that?”

“Yeah, Jeanie breathes. “That’s perfect.”

He makes another mark and removes the paper sketch. He smears her shoulder with stencil transfer and places the design, leaving a cute little steampunk cupcake robot that she commissioned from him a few weeks back.

“Okay, this is your first, right?”

Jeanie nods.

“Didn’t bring anyone to hold your hand?” Steve asks.

“Believe it or not, I don’t really have a lot of friends out here.” She bites her lip and won’t meet his eyes when she says it.

Steve looks at her and waits for her to look back. “Peggy’s not busy.”

Jeanie shakes her head.

Steve nods. He gets it. “Shoulders are good for first timers. But you let me know if you need a break, okay? You’re my last appointment today, and I’ve got nowhere to be.”

“Where’s Bucky?” Jeanie asks.

“Jeanie,” Steve starts, sitting back.

“I just meant,” she interrupts. She blows her Betty bangs off her forehead. They’re not really flattering on her face, and Clint had to stop Peggy from offering to help a couple of times, telling her to ‘let the girl make her own damn mistakes. That’s the only way she’ll learn.’

“I just meant, will he be waiting for you somewhere if this runs long? I’m not. I mean, yeah, I have - _had_ \- a stupid schoolgirl crush on him. Everyone knows and I know everyone knows. I _know_ that. But I’m not stupid, Steve, and I’m not a homewrecker. Even if I thought he could see me when you’re around, which he _can’t_ , and you have to know that. I’m not trying to try anything. I’m not after your man.”

“He’s at home,” Steve says softly, starting on the outline. “He’s the one with a cold, for once. He won’t be waiting up for me.”

“He was nice to me,” Jeanie says, just as quietly, barely audible over the hum of the tattoo gun. “I thought moving to the city was going to solve all my problems. Turned out changing zip codes didn’t change anything else. But Bucky was nice to me when he didn’t have to be.”

“He does that,” Steve says.

“And, I mean, he’s fucking hot.”

Steve laughs. “Well. You’re not wrong there.”

=====

Steve starts it, because Steve starts it pretty much every time. Bucky and Coulson are at the bar settling up and getting ready to call it a night when Bucky sees the pit rile up. Coulson stands up suddenly. Bucky tenses at his back, mind blanking the way it always does when shit’s about to go down. He’s always had a sense for these things.  

“Get your boy,” he says, already wading into the fray. He grabs Clint by the back of the collar and all but throws him out of the pit toward Coulson, Clint snarling and spitting, fighting to get loose. Even Coulson is having a hard time settling him down, and has to resort to taking his knees out from under him and dragging him outside.

Bucky can’t find Steve until he punches some dickbag in the face and sees Steve bloodied and struggling back to his feet. The dickbag is trying to shove his way around Bucky and get to Steve, and Steve is still struggling back to his feet, daring the guy to come at him even through the blood pouring out of his nose.

Bucky turns around and grabs the guy by the neck, seeing red.

He comes back to himself with Coulson and Clint dragging him backward out of the bar, Steve limping along behind them. Clint’s softly muttering a litany of nonsense, “Come back, Bucky, come on, you’re okay now.”

His knuckles hurt.

His face hurts.

His ribs are a little tender, but definitely not broken.

The shock of cold night air hits him and he stands under his own power, brushing Coulson’s hand away and nodding. “I’m good.”

“Diner. Now.” Coulson orders, turning on his heel and stalking off. Clint grimaces and follows.

Steve nods when Bucky looks him over, raising an eyebrow in a silent ‘you okay?’

“‘M good,” Bucky grins at him, meanly, with pink-stained teeth.

“Thor and Natasha waved us off, but Coulson’s right. We should probably be elsewhere for a while.”

Steve’s quiet. His nose has stopped bleeding, and Bucky, Clint, and Coulson have all decreed it’s not broken, but he’s going to have a hell of a shiner come the morning. “Won’t be the first time,” Steve mutters.

“Coulson,” Clint starts, again, but again he stops short.

“Not now, Clint.”

Clint fidgets at the side of the table.

Coulson pats Steve’s shoulder. “We’re not going to stay.”

“Clint’s not in any trouble, right?” Steve asks. “Because it was totally my fault.”

“It was not!”

“Well, no. It was that asshole’s fault,” Steve concedes.

“Right,” Clint says.

“But I started it.”

“You did?” Bucky asks.

Steve hunches in on himself a little. “I mean, technically? I threw the first punch.”

“Long overdue, if you ask me,” Clint says.

“We didn’t. Although I agree,” Phil says. “So no, Clint’s not in trouble.”

Clint smiles.

“He’s not exactly not in trouble, though, either.” Coulson tightens his hold on Clint’s collar.

The smile melts from Clint’s face. “But sir!”

“Clint.”

“Yeah, all right,” Clint slumps.

Coulson turns to go.

Clint leans down over the table between Bucky and Steve. “Worth it,” he whispers.

“I heard that.”

“Heard what, boss?” Clint straightens, jogging to catch up with Coulson. “I didn’t say a word! Not a peep!”

After they leave, Steve and Bucky sit in silence for a few moments. “So. Are you going to tell me or am I going to have to ask?”

“Hmm?” Steve sits back and waits for their waitress - not Ruby, must be her night off - to set their apple pies in front of them. “Oh, right.”

“Stop stalling, Steve.”

“It’s nothing. It was just. Okay, so I used to want to date this guy. We didn’t, but I kind of wanted to. Because I was kind of dumb and, well, whatever.”

“This the guy before me?” Bucky asks.

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes, surprised. “You know about this?”

Bucky nods. “Clint may have mentioned something a while back.”

“Clint’s terrible at other people’s secrets.” Steve sighs. “This is somewhat humiliating.”

Bucky reaches across, thumps his fingers against the back of Steve’s hand. “Was that the guy I pummeled?”

Steve nods.

“That scrawny, sick-looking fucker?” Bucky asks. From everything he’s heard, Steve has a type. Mr Heroin Chic was not exactly who Bucky’d pictured when Clint had told him about Steve’s failed love life.

“Well, he didn’t look quite like that a couple years ago. So I was kind of into this guy, and he … I don’t know. I don’t know if he ever genuinely liked me, or if he was just hanging around because I could get him things, because I knew people. But I kept thinking, you know, maybe if I got him what he wanted, maybe if I gave him the ink, or got Tasha to pierce him, or brought Coulson to one of his shows, maybe I could convince him to see me.”

“Wasting your time.”

“I know that now,” Steve says, defensively.

“I’m not mad at you, Steve. I’m mad for you.”

“Oh. Well. Anyway. This guy, he and Clint got into it. I never got the full story, but I think it was about me. Or Coulson. Or both of us. And I guess he fell on some hard times after that, and he blames me. Or he blames us?” Steve looks at Bucky a little helplessly.

“Did he come looking for you?” Bucky bristles.

“No, Buck, I don’t think so. I don’t even know if he knew where he was. Pupils the size of dinner plates. I don’t know how he even got into the club. Tony has a lifetime ban against him. But when he saw me and Clint, he just kind of lost it. And ...” Steve shrugs. “I mean, he was going to hurt someone. For real.”

“He did hurt someone for real.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” Steve says, miserable. “I was getting back up, I was going to handle it.”

“I meant you, not me,” Bucky tries to explain.

Steve blows his bangs out of his eyes, but stays quiet. “I’ve had worse.”

“That doesn’t make this any better, Steve.”

Hey, can we just go home?”

“Yeah, go on. I’ll get this, you get your coat back on.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Steve says as they’re walking slowly home.

“Wait, what?”

Steve sighs. “Nothing, never mind.”

“No, what?”

Steve steps into a hug, hiding his face in Bucky’s soft chest. “I dont want to lose you.”

“Where do you think I’m going?”

He shrugs again. “With this stuff. My issues. Kids. The shop. The documentary.”

“No, hey, what the hell?” Bucky tries to get eye-to-eye with him, but Steve holds fast, and Bucky gives up, scratching his nails up Steve’s scalp. “Have you forgotten how we’ve been planning to do this whole ritualized thing where we publicly announce that we’re forever pals and the government has to get involved for some reason?”

Steve snorts, but keeps his face averted.

“Come on. What about any of that makes you think you’re going to lose me?”

“Am I being dramatic again?”

“Yeah, babe. But you’re cute with your busted nose, so I’ll let it slide.”

“I’m not cute.”

“You’re ruggedly handsome with your busted nose.”

“Scars are sexy.”

“That’s what they tell me.”

Steve and Bucky always sleep wrapped up in each other, but that night, Steve clings just a little harder.

=====

“Clint,” Bucky says after hitting his target. They’re playing a bastardized version of horse, with a shotgun, a crossbow, and a set of throwing knives in Natasha’s back yard. “Tell me you know where to find that guy.”

“From last night?”

Bucky nods.

“Can’t. I don’t know, and I’m not allowed to look.” Clint makes an impossible shot that’s definitely going to win him the game, so Bucky concedes and flips one of the knives around in his hand.

“Come on, man. I know you’ve got your rules and I respect that, but, I mean, this is _Steve_.” Bucky implores. He’ll beg if he needs to.

“Nope. I can’t. I mean, I really can’t.” Clint takes a deep breath. “And Coulson said if you asked me more than once I had to tell on you so please please don’t ask me more than once. And definitely, whatever you do, don’t call Tasha and Maria and ask them to find out for you, because there’s no way they’ll be able to help you and Coulson totally did not specifically tell me not to tell you where to go for help.”

Bucky takes a moment to process all of that. “You’re a good friend, Clint.”

“And I definitely didn’t break the rules.” Clint smiles a little weakly, breaking down the shotgun for cleaning before he locks it back up in Natasha’s china hutch. Right next to her porcelain duck collection.

“You definitely didn’t.”

Clint hums, securing the weapons, and then gets them each a glass of water from the kitchen. He hops up onto the counter and asks Bucky, “You got a plan?”

“What?”

“What are you gonna do to him when you find him? Kill him?” Clint looks up from his lap, sincere.

“Would like nothing more,” Bucky says. He sets the glass in the sink, afraid he might squeeze it until it breaks in his hand.

Clint nods, once.

“I’m not going to kill him, Clint.”

“What then?” Clint does something with his face. He looks all of five years old and completely innocent. Jesus, how does Coulson deny him anything?

“I don’t know. I don’t. Tell him to stay away from Steve?” Bucky shrugs helplessly.

“Hmm. Because Steve will thank you for that, definitely.” Clint plays with a loose string on his jeans.

“Steve doesn’t need to know.”

Clint carries on like Bucky hadn’t spoken. “And I know when I told him to back the fuck off and quit leading Steve on, that worked so well. For the next month, I couldn’t turn around without that fuckwit putting his hands all over him.”

“I don’t know!” Bucky tugs his hair out of its ponytail, needing to do something with his hands. “I don’t know but I have to do something. He hurt Steve. He hurt _you_.”

“I’m fine,” Clint shrugs. “I broke his arm before you even showed up, and I didn't get arrested this time, so thanks. But you didn’t come into the pit to back me up.”

Bucky pats his pockets, looking for a smoke out of habit. “I can’t let him just come after Steve like that.”

Clint tilts his head, then shrugs again, hopping off the counter. “Think about it. If you come up with a plan, let me know. Coulson said I couldn’t help you find him, not that I couldn’t go with you if you did.”

=====

The cover charge to get into Stark’s Club for Halloween is, as expected, unnecessarily complicated. Bucky sighs as he tries to explain it to the line-up again.

“Twenty dollars, cash. Ten cans of food. Five if they’re all name brands.”

There’s some grumbling from the crowd at that, and Bucky actually hears someone mutter “It’s not fair.” He looks toward Thor, but he’s already on it, finding the asshole and directing him elsewhere for the evening.

“Look, if you can drop nine bucks on a Manhattan or a Harvey Wallbanger - which, by the way, are the only cocktails the bar will be serving tonight, ladies and gentlemen - you can drop the extra nineteen cents on food you’d actually eat for the less fortunate. Cover’s free if Lady Liberty” - Bucky points to Darcy, who is dressed as the Statue of Liberty for some reason. She waves her torch to the crowd - “likes your costume enough to send you to the front of the line. Which, in your case, Generic Dead Prom Queen, she did not. So cough up one of the aforementioned forms of payment or move along. Plenty of more mainstream clubs are hosting Halloween parties tonight.”

It might be playing dirty, but Bucky knows this crowd will do anything to avoid the dreaded mainstream label. It seems every hipster in Brooklyn found out about Stark’s party tonight, and deemed it The Place to be if you’re trying to not try. Stark set it up to be as old-fashioned as possible, with bobbing for apples and all manner of games Pepper and Natasha spent months researching.

Bucky still hates Halloween, but he has free reign to deny anyone access if he doesn’t like their costumes. So far he, Thor, and Darcy have sent about fifty partiers packing. There’s the sexist costumes, the racist costumes, and Bucky’s favorite, “Sorry, we already have three One Night Stands inside, try again.”

“Three? How did we get three?” Thor says, waving in a couple dressed like a wine bottle and a bunch of grapes.

“One was dressed like the furniture, the other two were actually just out to party and have meaningless sex tonight. That was their raison d’etre as well as their costume. I liked the laziness disguised as creativity.”

Thor nods as the door to the club swings open, Steve coming outside with a wall of thumping bass and noise.

“Here,” he says, handing Bucky and Thor a bottle of beer and water each. He sways into Bucky a bit and Bucky kisses him on the crown of his head. Steve makes a happy little sound in the back of his throat.

Steve is dressed up as some kind of grampa type. He’s wearing khakis and a button-up plaid thing; his natural-colored hair is parted on the side and combed neatly. He’s adorable. Natasha covered his ink with make-up, even though the outfit hid his elbows and his collarbone. Except the one on his finger. He wouldn’t let her touch that one.

“You feeling good there, Stevie?” Bucky asks, letting Steve press closer into his side.

“Yeah,” Steve nods. He’s holding himself carefully, in the way that means he’s a little concerned he might just fall off the world. “You about done?”

Bucky looks toward Thor and Darcy, who wave him off. “I believe we have this under control,” Thor says.

“I’m dating a bouncer,” Steve says loudly to the line.

“No, really?” someone jokes from the line.

“Yup,” Steve misses the sarcasm. “The big guy right there, that’s my boyfriend. I’m dating him,” he earnestly tells the sexy nurse.

Normally, anyone in that costume would have been denied instantly, but A, it’s all guys wearing the sexy versions of costumes, and B, they all have pictures of their moms doing the actual jobs the costumes are depicting pinned to the backs of their costumes. Thor, Darcy, and Bucky all conferred and decided it was social commentary and allowed them to stay in the line.

“No, not the blond one,” Steve continues as Bucky reels him back to him. “The sexy one! Sorry Thor.”

“Not at all, Steven. I’ve never found you attractive, either, but that does not diminish our friendship.”

“We’re friends,” Steve tells Bucky, grinning.

“Get him inside,” Darcy says. “We’ve got this covered out here.”

Bucky takes Darcy at her word. “Come on, babe. Let’s get you some water.”

“That’s probably a good idea. There are many, many alcohol in Manhattans.”

“Yeah, when someone like you has four of them.”

“I didn’t have four.”

"You had two, and you let Tony pour them. So, really, you’ve had about five,” Bruce says, handing a bottle of water across the bar to Steve. “Also, I’m willing to bet you forgot to eat again today, didn’t you?” Bucky asks him accusingly.

“Maybe,” Steve mutters, hiding behind his water.

“Steve -”

“I was busy?”

“That’s right, pudding pop. Turn those profits. Make me rich. Richer.” Tony joins them at the bar. He’s dressed as Dr Frankenstein, Bruce is the monster, and Pepper is his bride. Tony shrugs. “It’s been done to death, but we like it.”

“Why’d you decide to have the party here, Stark, instead of your home?”

Tony shrugs again. “Gotta keep the kids guessing. Don’t worry, you and small fry here can still get it on in my guest bedroom if you want.”

“Shut up, Tony.” Steve blushes, cheeks turning slightly rosier than the drinks have already made them.

“That’d probably hold more weight if you didn’t have your hand on his ass, you know.”

“He’s not wrong.” Bucky laughs.

Steve just squeezes a little harder. “Want me to stop?”

Bucky tightens his arm around Steve’s shoulder. “Hell no.”

Tony rolls his eyes.

=====

“It’s kind of been a while,” Bucky says, watching Steve pour the rest of the Halloween candy into their largest bowl.

“Since we’ve had sex?”

“No, asshole. Since we did,” Bucky makes an incomprehensible gesture toward Steve and the candy. “That.”

“Oh.” Steve sets the bowl down on the bedside table and sit on the mattress next to Bucky. “Yeah, I guess it has.”

Bucky folds his hands in his lap, mostly to keep them from shaking. It’s been a while since they’ve done that, too. “Thought maybe you didn’t want to. Anymore.”

Steve startles. “Are you kidding me?”

Bucky shrugs. “People change. Interests change. Tastes change.”

“You’re not a taste for me. You’re, you’re it for me.” Steve grabs Bucky by the shoulders, forces him to look at him when he tells him, “Of course I still want to do this. As long as you still want to do this.”

“Yeah. I wanna do this. Stay here.” Bucky stands up and stops Steve’s next question with a finger pressed to his lips. “Well, get naked. But stay here.”

Steve nods, and toes off his shoes. Bucky walks over to the bathroom, and shuts the door behind him. He’s never been more grateful for Steve’s tendencies to forget to pick up his clothes once he’s taken them off. Steve’s baby blue V-neck is right there on the floor where he left it the night before, and Bucky picks it up, holds it in front of him for a minute.

When he opens the bathroom door again, Steve has, for once, done as he was told, and he’s laid back on the bed, naked and kind of absently playing with himself, mostly just moving the skin of his dick around a little bit. Until Bucky steps completely into the room, and Steve has to sit up a little, grab for his glasses off the nightstand. He almost pokes his own eye out in his rush to get them on.

“Is that. Is that mine?” he stutters, kneeling up to get closer.

“What, this old thing?” Bucky asks, faux-coy. He bats his eyelashes exaggeratedly at Steve.

“Your ridiculous is at war with your sexy,” Steve tells him.

Bucky puts his hands under his belly and lifts, lets it fall back on its own, and the tee shirt rides up. He smooths it back down and Steve breathlessly tells him, “Okay, so sexy is winning.”

“Sit back down.”

“But. But,” Steve whines.

“Sit. Back down.” Bucky stands next to him and reaches into the forgotten bowl of Halloween candy. Slowly, he unwraps one of the chocolates, and pops it into his mouth.

“Oh.” Steve’s eyes widen as he watches.

Bucky smiles. “Now, we can’t really do it properly with candy, but maybe we’ll call this … a preview.” He shakes the bowl next to Steve.

Steve reaches in absently and grabs a handful of the bite-sized chocolates.

=====

“So,” Steve says, pushing his way between Bucky and Clint. Coulson raises his eyebrow but steps back, waiting to see where this is going. Bucky freezes, the hair on the back of his neck raising. He exchanges a glance with Clint, who clearly feels it, too.

“I know no one cares, because none of us are big into gossip, but I heard something interesting today.”

Now Bucky knows he’s in trouble, because Steve has that casual, airy tone he only uses when someone has sincerely pissed him off. It’s usually followed by a couple of punches and Bucky wading into a fight he’s not sure the cause of, but he’s got Steve’s six regardless. Except this time, Steve’s six, Bucky checks, is had by Maria. She’s frowning, and her arms are crossed and she just dismissed Peggy with one held up index finger.

“Fuck,” Clint says.

“I heard,” Steve continues, casually examining his beer bottle. “That someone was asking around about Grant. I heard” - he takes a drink, slowly - “that someone was checking into last known addresses and current places of employment and asking all manner of invasive questions.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, stopping short at Steve’s look.

“I heard,” he says, with great finality, “that there would be no more questions. You know how unreliable the grapevine can be, though.” Steve turns and leaves with Maria. Clint and Bucky cringe somewhat identically.

“If it helps, he’s in rehab. In California,” Coulson says. “But you’d both” - he clenches his fingers in Clint’s collar - “forgotten all about him, hadn’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” Clint says, quickly.

Bucky’s surprised to find that he’d also said it.

“At ease, soldier,” Coulson tells him, and Bucky relaxes. He nods, trying to look anywhere else. Natasha catches his eye from across the bar. He heads over, better to get away from whatever Coulson’s got planned for Clint.  

“Natasha, what the hell? We came to you for help and you -”

“Before you say anything else, he really is in rehab.” She stirs her drink slowly. “Steve can take care of himself. Clint, though.”

“Clint has Coulson,” Bucky tries.

“And before he had Coulson, he had me.”

=====

Steve usually has a cold during the World Series. Has since he was a kid. Between his allergies - with all the wet, molding leaves piled up outside, and his sinuses - with the up-and-down yo-yo temperatures, and when he was younger going back to school and sharing all those germs, his immune system never stood a chance.

He’s curled up on the sofa with his tea-and-honey and a big box of tissues and he smells like Vicks. The series went to seven games this year, and he's got Bucky all bundled up with him, because yeah, if he’s going to catch Steve's cold, it's too late to avoid it now.

“You spend six hours a night breathing on my face.”

“I’ve seen you two sleep,” Clint interjects. “It’s more like he spends six hours a night breathing on your chest.”

“It’s a good chest,” Steve says, voice rough and nasally. He pats Bucky’s solid shoulder and lays his head back down.

“Damn straight,” Bucky says, squeezing lightly on the back of Steve’s neck.

Across the room, Clint rolls his eyes.

“Don’t be jealous, Clint.”

“I’m not.” He reaches up to touch the buckle on his collar, though, and his fingers rest there for a long moment.

Steve tries to snort but ends up in a coughing fit. Bucky rubs his back for him until he settles again. “When does Coulson get back anyway?”

“Should be tomorrow.”

“You want a hug?” Steve asks.

“Not from your snotty ass,” Clint says, but the way his arms are crossed around his body says different.

“No, not from me. Bucky, go hug Clint.”

“Dear Penthouse Forum,” Clint says, but he lets Bucky hug him for a long, long time. “You do a good hug, Barnes.”

“You better now?” Bucky backs off, holds Clint at arm’s length by his shoulders.

Clint nods. “That’ll do.” He waits for Bucky to settle back in with Steve, then sits back down on the sofa next to Bucky. “Thanks,” he whispers, quietly enough that if they didn’t know him, they wouldn’t have heard it.

There's baseball on tv and Steve’s doped up on NyQuil and Bucky’s a solid presence under his cheek. All in all it's not the worst way to spend an October evening.

Bucky wakes up some time later, hot and sweaty with Steve and Clint on either side of him. They’ve apparently unconsciously decided to hold a contest for who can snore the loudest. Steve’s winning.

Bucky maneuvers himself out from between them. “Babe, go get in the bed,” he says, trying to dislodge Steve from Clint’s legs without throwing him on the floor.

“Don’t wanna,” Steve mumbles.

“Yes you do, I forgot how damn bony you are,” Clint says, wiggling around and bucking his hips, forcing Steve off the sofa.

“Steve, bed. Clint, shut up and go back to sleep.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” Clint mumbles, already snoring again.

=====

Steve comes back to the bed with two mugs of coffee. Bucky didn’t sleep well the night before, tossing and turning and squeezing the hell out of Steve when he thought he was asleep. Usually on nights like that, Bucky would get up, get out of bed, go to the roof and work on the garden or go to the shop and fix something. Steve waited for the tell-tale shift of the mattress all night, but Bucky never did leave.

He’s still not leaving.

“It never sat right with me, saying happy Veteran’s Day,” Steve says, his hand on the lumpy comforter over what he hopes is Bucky’s shoulder. “Not sure what else to say though. I acknowledge and respect your service?”

“Mmph.”

Nope, not a shoulder, unless Bucky’s recently taken up yoga. A knee? This whole time, Steve’s been talking to Bucky’s ass. Seems about right.

Steve squeezes Bucky’s probably-knee through the blanket. “Do you still have your dress uniform?”

“Yes.”

Steve takes a breath. “Does it fit?”

“Steve, _no_.” Bucky sounds scandalized, if still muffled.

“No, not like that. Did you want to go to the parade?”

“No.”

“Sam said -”

“No.”

Bucky’s back to flat responses. “Did ... you want me to call Sam?”

“No.”

“Um. Okay.”

“Mmph.”

“Are you going to stay in bed all day?”

Part of the blanket moves in what Steve assumes is a shrug. “Probably.”

“Can I come in there with you?”

“Yeah.”

“You awake?” Bucky asks quietly into the dark after some indeterminate amount of time has passed. It’s a ridiculous question, he knows it’s a ridiculous question before he even opens his mouth, because they’ve been lying in bed for longer than six seconds. But he asks anyway.

Steve snuffles. It’s not really an answer, because Steve snuffles a lot in his sleep. He’s a noisy little fucker. It doesn’t really matter if he’s awake for this, though. Bucky’d probably prefer it if he wasn’t. He needs to say it anyway.

“I ever tell you what’s up with me and machinery?” He knows he hasn’t, but he figures this’ll be a nice opening gambit.

“You mean when what happened … happened? You were in a car, right?”

Bucky nods. “Transport vehicle. Must have been.”

“Why. Why do you say it like that?”

“Don’t remember.”

Steve waits for him to go on with his story, if he wants to.

“I get flashes, sometimes. But It’s mostly just a big hole in my memory. I remember fire. The smells. The sounds of metal bending. I remember fighting someone. I think. But I was out of it for a long time, and there was. Infection. Fever. I remember it, but I don’t really remember it.”

Steve holds him tightly. “Have you thought about maybe checking the medical reports now?”

“What good would that do?”

“I don’t know. It was just a thought.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m gonna turn on the TV. You be okay with it on?”

Steve levels an unimpressed look at him that Bucky can feel more than see.

“Yeah, yeah. Come here then.” Bucky holds out his arm and lets Steve drape himself along his side and wiggle around until he gets comfortable. “Like sleeping with a damn puppy, I swear.”

=====

Bucky’s on the computer in the back of the shop, skyping with some of his old army buddies while Steve works of some sketches. He’s started to get back in touch with a couple of the guys, selectively, here and there, after Sam reminded him that the world exists outside of their strangely incestuous group, and that maybe it’d be good to try to connect with some people who know what he’s been through or have been through similar stuff themselves.

Steve’s leaned over his shoulder and waved, said hello a couple of times, once to a blond guy with a goatee and what the computer made look like green glasses - or maybe they really were green - and another guy with long dark hair. This time, they’re both together and Steve’s greeted enthusiastically by the glasses guy, and with a nod from the hair guy.

When Bucky signs off, Steve asks if they’re together together.

“Yeah, for a while. A long while. They went up to New Hampshire to make it official, though, because they settled in Texas when they got out.”

“Hmm, that sucks.”

“Nah, Jensen, that’s the glasses one, he’s got family there.”

“Still. It’s not the same as doing it at home. Remember Vegas?” Steve sets his pencil down and walks over to the sofa.

Bucky snorts. “Remember how bad Clint sucked at dice?” He joins Steve, lying down with his head in Steve’s lap.

“Remember how he tried to talk the casino into a double or nothing shooting contest? And they thought he was a threat?” Steve laughs.

Bucky gasps for breath. “Remember Coulson staring down the pit boss?”

“I thought Clint was going to blow him right there on the floor!”

“I thought _I_ was going to blow him right there on the floor!”

When the laughter dies down, Bucky looks up at Steve. “You’re thinking.”

“Thanks.”

“You’ve got your crusader face on.”

“Is it fair?” Steve asks.

“The crusades?”

“No, jackass, don’t even get me started. Getting married.”

“Is it fair?” Bucky asks again, sitting up.

“You know, to join a club not everyone can join. Should we. I don’t know, take a stand?”

“Is this a ploy to make me propose to you a fifth time?”

‘I’m trying to be serious, here, Buck.” Steve sighs. “I mean ...” He rubs his thumb across the inside of his left ring finger. “We’re permanent, right? The cover-up on that would have to be pretty interesting.”

“Don’t joke.”

“Sorry,” Steve leans over to Bucky and wraps him in a hug. His fingers just come together behind Bucky’s back.

“Stevie, you know my mom loves you,” Bucky says, stroking his hand through Steve’s hair.

“Um. Yes?” Steve does know that.

“But you know my mom doesn’t get us, right?”

She accepts Steve in Bucky’s life without question. Well, mostly without question. She did once ask, “So that makes you the girl, right?” which left Steve offended and shockingly speechless for a moment. He heard Amy in the background scream out. “No, Mom. There’s no _girl_. They’re both _boys_. That’s kind of the point.”

“In any case,” she carried on, “you are the best thing that’s ever happened to my son. I don’t claim to understand it. I always figured he’d just find a short little butch girl if that’s what he was going to do. But you make him so happy, Steve, you really do.”

“She tries,” Bucky continues. “But if something were to happen to me, there’s no telling that she would make the right decisions.”

Steve’s never heard Bucky be this honest about his mother’s shortcomings before. “Buck -”

“No, listen. She’d never deny you hospital visits or anything like that. She’s flighty, but she’s not cruel. But she’d listen to Amy before she ever listened to you, about what’s best for me, about my medical care. She thinks girls are naturally more nurturing. She just _does_ , Steve. Maybe that'll change, I don't know. She is getting better. Paper, no paper, I don’t care, it really doesn’t matter to me. But for stuff like that, it’d be nice to have the protection.” Bucky shrugs, breathing a little heavy.

“Okay,” Steve says. “Okay. I get it.”

=====

Every so often, Steve finds himself in the mood for Frat Boy Reggae. It would be his secret shame, if he believed in guilty pleasures. Since he doesn’t, he blasts OAR and Guster, Dispatch and State Radio, Jack Johnson and a few selected tracks from Jason Mraz in the shop. His regulars double-take when they come through the door, some of them turning bodily around to check the painted sign on the window.

Bucky just shrugs at them.

Steve bops along obliviously, and Bucky shakes his head. “It sounds like how weed and feet smell,” he complains.

Steve drums his hands on the counter and shoots finger guns at Bucky, sings along to a line Bucky’s not even sure is words, let alone English ones, and bops into the stockroom.

"If I hear the word Jehovah come out of your mouth, I’m leaving you,” Bucky calls after him.

When Bucky escapes to the club to do some repairs behind the bar, singing Rusted Root under his breath, Bruce’s head shoots up.

"Sorry, man, but damn that crap is catchy.”

"No, no, I know, trust me. But don’t let Tony -" Bruce trails off, too late in his warning, as Tony has already pinned Bucky between himself and the bar.

Bucky spins away and twists Tony’s arm up behind his back before he even realizes what he’s done. He releases Tony, ready to apologize, but Tony just rolls his shoulders.

“How long,” he demands.

“Stark, what th-”

“How. Long? Has he played Paul Simon’s _Graceland_ yet?”

“Yes,” Bucky slumps. “Last night I had to pull him off a guy twice his size who insisted DMB was the greatest band ever. Since I wouldn’t let him fight the guy and I wouldn’t fight the guy for him, I had to listen to Steve explain the divergence of funk and ska to me. With audio demonstrations. I shoulda let the guy deck him. It woulda been less painful.”

"But now when you call him, you can call him Al," Bruce sings.

"I used to like you," Bucky mutters.

But Tony isn’t listening. He’s got two phones in his hands - one to each ear - and he’s yelling something at Pepper about “Island Night.”

Apparently, as Bruce explains, Steve’s brief detour into the land of white boy dreads is something Tony’s been trying to capitalize on for years. Within the next twenty minutes, he’s canceled and rescheduled everything on the agenda at the club for the next forty-eight hours.

(This includes some hefty cancellation fees. This is clearly very important to Tony. The kind of importance that comes only from the chance to good-naturedly humiliate one of your best friends.)

“Is this going to be the fun kind of Tony-thing, or am I going to have to punch him for making my boyfriend cry?”

Bruce shrugs. “Could probably go either way. You know. It’s Tony.”

=====

Tony sends a car to the apartment to ensure sure Bucky and Steve both arrive on time.

"It’s not a limo, though," Steve mock-complains to Tony outside the club. "Just a town car. I’m hurt, Buck. Hurt."

"I thought we were worth more than this, Stark."

Tony waves him off and thrusts a mai tai into Steve’s hands. “Limos are for special occasions. Drink, you.”

“I know what you’re doing,” Steve says, but he downs the drink anyway. “Tasty.”

“What are you doing to my boyfriend, Stark? What’s in the drink? What is all this about?” Bucky’s head is swivelling between the club, Steve, and Tony. “How are there things I still don’t know?”

“Trust him,” Natasha says, popping her head out the club’s front door. “Get about three more of those into Steve, get out your phone, and wait for the magic to happen.”

Simmons comes to the door and peeks out around Natasha. “You’re here! Fantastic!”

“Okay, what the hell? You closed the bakery in the morning for this?” Bucky asks, but they follow her inside, and the club is packed.

“It’s _Island Night_ ,” Jemma says by way of explanation.  “I’ve been waiting for this since forever.”

Bucky gets another mai tai for Steve, a rum and coke for himself, and a fresh pina colada for Pepper, and squeezes his way to their table up front by the stage.

“I got my first fake ID for Island Night,” Fitz says from his perch on Mack’s lap. Huh.

“Is that the time I had to back out because of the break-in at Peggy’s?” Steve asks, taking his fresh drink from Bucky and sipping.

“No, that was the one where you caught pneumonia and we all wound up in the hospital’s waiting room in Hawaiian shirts and plastic fucking leis,” Clint says. “Hi, Fitz!” There’s that toothy smile again, before Coulson pulls him away to the far end of the table.

=====

Natasha and Pepper start off karaoke with a duet of “The Tide is High” and Bruce actually performs “Good People” without Tony complaining. They open up the stage to the rest of the club, and it’s another mai tai down before Steve’s name is called.

“Babe?” Bucky asks, concerned. Steve has no shame, but Steve also has no talent. Not for singing, anyway. Drinking does not improve his abilities in the least.

“‘S why we’re here, Buck,” Steve says, surprisingly steady on his feet. The crowd cheers, apparently agreeing.

He makes Bucky come up on stage with him to publicly give him an exemption for the Jehovah rule. "It’s in the song, Buck. I have to respect their artistic integrity,” he laughs.

"You have five minutes," Bucky says into the mic.

"Bucky," Natasha jumps up on stage, stealing his mic and holding a hand out to Steve, ever the showman. "This song. This is not one of your paltry five minute songs." The crowd cheers even louder. "Steve needs at least three times that long, he’s performing their live version. There’s a saxophone solo on the track long enough for him to get another drink and take a pee break."

Steve trills a little rimshot on the bongos. _Bongos_.

Bucky kisses Steve on the cheek. “I might leave you anyway. I thought you were punk. I let you wear my leather jacket. All along, you were nothing but a fraud. You can probably play beer pong.”

Half the crowd cheers him, half boo, but they’re all laughing along.

“Don’t listen to that one,” Steve says, pushing Bucky playfully away. “He played football in high school!” Steve sings to a tune that’s vaguely familiar, but Bucky can’t place it.

Bucky jumps off the stage and flips Steve off. Steve makes kissy faces at Bucky and Bucky breaks, laughing as he sits back down at their table.

Steve launches into an actually fairly decent rendition of “That Was A Crazy Game of Poker.” It’s mostly on key, in tune, and he’s incredibly enthusiastic. And - shocking no one - he knows all the words without looking at the teleprompter.

When he’s finished - and yes, he did refill his drink during the jam session part - he settles back down on Bucky’s lap. “Okay, it’s out of my system now.”

“Really?” Bucky pulls Steve in and adjusts his legs. Damn, Steve’s a bony little shit.

“Well, I’ll probably sing a bunch more, and the hangover tomorrow is going to put me off this music for at least six months, but yeah.” Steve takes another sip of his mai tai.

“Maybe now we can convince Tony to have bluegrass night!” Jane pipes up, sloshing her daiquiri over her wrist. Thor grabs her and keeps her on her feet. Bucky’s about to comment on the state of Jane’s hungover future, but Pepper interrupts quickly.

“Bucky, so help me, if Steve tries to lecture us about the migration of modern American music from its bluegrass roots, I will hold you personally responsible.”

=====

_ur cming to thxgvg @ ours no excuses_ Tony texts.

“Tony, we were going to work at the rec center again,” Bucky tells him when he and Bruce pop into the shop.

“Not this year,” Tony says, already elbow deep in computer guts. Bucky has no idea what it is he’s doing back there, but every couple of months a new computer appears at the front counter, Bruce and Tony disappear for a couple of days, and then the back counter is covered in wires and circuit boards again.

“It’s already been planned.”

“Nope. I got extras just for you. You’re coming.”

“I don’t really think that’s up to you,” Bucky says slowly.

“What he means to say,” Bruce says, wiping his glasses on his shirt, “is that we’d like to invite you, and the others, too, of course, to our place for Thanksgiving this year. Please.”

Bucky sighs. “Let me check with Steve. But you know how he is when he’s got his mind made up.”

“Tell him it’s a dinner. He can work the early shift in do-gooder hell. Or I’ll write a check in his name. Tell him to pick the number of zeros. I don’t _care_ , just fucking be there.”

“Is this some kind of a stunt, Tony?”

“No! It’s very important that you come to Thanksgiving dinner at our place please, oh my god.”

=====

“Babe,” Bucky knocks on the bathroom door. He can still hear the sounds of the shower, but Steve’s been in there a hell of a long time. “Did you pass out again?”

“No.” It’s amazing how much indignance Steve can work into a single syllable.

Bucky opens the door, slides inside, and then shuts the door firmly behind him. Sometimes the door sticks. He’ll have to work on that when he gets a free morning.

“Are you ever going to come out?”

“No.”

He can see Steve’s silhouette behind the shower curtain and plumes of steam  where he’s sitting in the floor of the shower, letting the water cascade over him. He’s been in literal rainforests that weren’t this hot and humid.

“Okay. While I respect your perfectly valid lifestyle choice, you’re going to run out of hot water sooner or later.”

Steve pulls back the shower curtain and squints up at him. “Stark.”

“Huh. That explains some things. Whatcha doing in there?”

“Warm.”

“I can keep you warm out here.”

Steve makes a noncommittal noise that turns Bucky’s leer into a true smile.

“Come on,” he says, resolute, and reaches in. “Jesus, it’s boiling. You’re like a lobster in there.”

=====

Amy and Mrs Barnes are going to stay at a hotel. Mrs Barnes seemed to be under the impression that they’d be staying with Steve and Bucky, even after Bucky tried to explain that they had one room. Not one guest room, one room. Total.  

“It’s an efficiency, Mom.”

“Well it’s good that you’re being green, but-”

“That’s not what it is, Mom!” Amy screams from the background.

Bucky lays his head gently on the counter of the shop. Steve eases the phone out of his hand and listens to Mrs Barnes go on about how proud she is of her children and the work they’re doing to ensure global warming.

Not prevent it, _ensure_ it, but Steve thinks he knows what she means. He hopes.

“We’re going to put you in a hotel right in the middle of everything. That way you can get the real New York experience,” Steve says, as if the touristy crap that they will be doing is anything like the Decembers he’s spent in New York.

“I don’t want to put you boys out. New York is so expensive!” she worries.

“I got a guy,” Steve says, letting the Brooklyn come into his voice, thick and hard. He’s a salesman, after all; he knows how to give people what they want.

“Well, then. Here’s to New York.”

“New York, baby!” Amy echoes excitedly in the background.

=====

Steve and Bucky are milling around the crowd, waiting for the tree to light up. They’ve got hot chocolates in one hand and the others brush each other every couple of steps. Steve’s battened down to face an arctic expedition, but it’s a pretty mild night. Bucky’s in his Christmas sweater and leather jacket. He leans in for a kiss when Steve says, “‘Toine?”

Bucky pulls back. “No, Bucky.”

“No, Antoine!” Steve leans around Bucky, waving into the crowd.

“Hey, man! I was wondering if I’d bump into you! I came by the shop but it was closed. I wanted to introduce you to my -”

“Gabe?” Bucky interrupts, squinting at the guy next to Antoine.

“Yes? Nice to meet - Sarge?”

“Gabe!” Bucky says, and steps in for a one-armed hug.

“Hey, this is my cousin Gabe. But it. Looks like you already met?”

“We served together for a while,” Bucky explains.

“You look great, man!”

“Uh, thanks.” Bucky smiles a little self-consciously, and steps back, closer to Steve.

“No, really, you look good. This one been treating you good?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Bucky says.

Bucky and Gabe catch up while Steve and Antoine talk about holiday tats.

“Wait, there are people who get, like, Santa Claus tattoos?” Gabe asks.

“Oh, hell yeah,” Antoine says.

“My friend Quill, from the convention, Buck, remember? He once did a rudolph on some girl’s breast with her nipple as his nose.” Steve’s laughing so hard by the end of his sentence he’s not even making sounds. Once he calms, Antoine mentions doing a special on holiday themed tats. He starts in on the idea of a television show again.

“Think you can get her number?”

Steve sighs and looks away, but he’s also leaning in, his eyes bright. Bucky knows without a doubt, the documentary will definitely be a part of their future in one way or another.

“Antoine, I told you,” Steve says, taking another drink of his hot chocolate before it gets too cold. “I’m not Dave Navarro. I never wanted to be Dave Navarro. Well, I mean, not anymore. I don’t even like reality shows.”

“Nah, man, I’m telling you. This isn’t like that. It’s not a reality show. It’s a long form documentary, where you’d -”

Gabe steals Bucky’s attention back, asking if he’s kept up with anyone else from the old days. Bucky tells him about his Skype sessions.

“Was that the shortish dude with the non-reg hair? The silent one?”

“He talked,” Bucky defends.

Gabe raises an eyebrow. “To you maybe.”

“Yeah, him and that tech are still hanging out together. Some shit went down in Houston, I think, but they started some kind of security firm once it all calmed down.”

“Good. They’re good people. They ever get hitched?”

“You knew about them?”

“Man, everyone knew about them.”

“Yeah, they got married about a year ago.”

“Good, good for them. Prove people wrong, you know? Like you and yours.”

=====

As a compromise for Steve not working himself to death at the rec center all day, Bucky, Steve, Clint and Phil agree to head to the warehouse store where Coulson has a membership and pick up all the supplies - on Tony’s dime.

Bucky catches the keys to Pepper’s van out of the air. He’s spinning them around in his fingers consideringly.

“Would you like to drive, Bucky?” Phil asks.

“No!” he shouts, then continues at a more reasonable volume. “No, but I’ll go. Get it warmed up maybe?”

Steve opens his mouth, and takes a step toward Bucky, but Clint - subtly, for Clint. Bucky almost didn’t notice - clamps down on Steve’s shoulder and holds him in place firmly.

Bucky clenches the keys in his hands and heads out to the van. He hears Steve’s quiet “ow” as he’s leaving. It’s overcast and not quite raining, chilly and absolutely nothing like that day in South America.

The van is a bright, shiny blue, and he’s surrounded by the sounds of the city.

He drops the keys three times before he even unlocks the door.

He hears Phil’s footsteps slightly before he calls out, “On your eight, Bucky.”

“Yeah.” Bucky takes a deep breath. All that’s left is for him to climb in, settle the key, and turn the engine over. That’s it. “Steve watching?”

“No, Clint’s forcing him to toss him things to juggle.”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Clint’s a good friend.”

Phil hmms. “You can do this. If you want to. You don’t have to, but you can.”

“I got this.”

“I know.” Phil comes around Bucky’s other side, walking slowly and carefully around the front of the van and to the passenger side. “You’ve got time. Nice and slow, okay? I’m just going to wait here,” He opens the passenger door and raises his chin at Bucky. “When you’re ready.”

They climb into the van at the same time, Phil smoothly, Bucky shaking so hard he’s sure he’s set the van rocking.

“Breathe.”

“I’m breathing,” Bucky chokes out, realizing it’s a lie. He slides the keys into the ignition and turns, the engine catching and coming to life.

Bucky dives out of the van and runs to the far end of the alley to throw up.

But the van started, and is chugging away at the mouth of the alley, waiting for them.

=====

“I’ve never done it in a car before,” Steve says. He’s climbed out of Bucky’s lap, but only because Coulson refused to start driving until he put his seatbelt on, and they already used up quite a bit of gas waiting for Bucky to calm down enough to get back in the van.

“Please don’t start now,” Coulson says.

“I can’t think of anywhere I haven’t done it,” Clint says, sitting back with his hands behind his head in the front seat.

“We can’t all have your misspent youth, Clint,” Steve says.

“Nope, most of it was in the last few years.”

“Coulson, you dog!” Bucky laughs. He’s still shaky, but Steve hasn’t let go of his hand, so he’s doing alright.

“Yes, well.” Coulson clears his throat and concentrates very hard on the traffic moving at about three miles per hour in front of them.

“I don’t know,” Bucky says. “I mean, yeah, sometimes the urge just strikes you.”

“Does it ever,” Clint interrupts.

“But I don’t think either of us is interested in doing any actual jail time.”

“More jail time, you mean,” Clint says.

“Shut up, Clint. You’ve done more time than I have,” Steve says, kicking the back of Clint’s seat.

“ _Done time_ ,” Clint scoffs. “That’s a real ex-con piece of rough you got yourself, there, Bucky.”

“Don’t I know it. Mama warned me about boys like you.”

“I am an upstanding young businessman!” Steve laughs. “I am a pillar of our community!”

“Our community contains Tony Stark, so the bar’s not set all that high,” Bucky says, grunting when Coulson has to slam on the brakes in the holiday traffic. Bucky’s pretty sure it’s the first time he’s ever heard Coulson swear. He waits for the panic to come, but it never does.

When they finally park and pile out of the van, that’s when Bucky realizes Clint hasn’t said a word in more than forty-five minutes. He notices Clint’s white knuckled grip on his seat. Steve’s been focused on Bucky, Bucky’d been focused on himself, and Coulson had been fighting the pre-holiday traffic. Clint always panics silently, quiet and still, the opposite of Bucky’s loud, gasping, shaking attacks. Clint mastered the art of becoming invisible a long time ago, and Bucky’s never met anyone better. “Hey, Clint?”

Clint clenches his eyes shut, and if it was possible to flinch without moving, that’s what Clint just did.

“Boys, go on ahead,” Coulson says, digging his wallet out of his pocket one handed, leaving the other where Clint can see it.

Steve starts to object, but Bucky just grabs him by the back of the neck and steers him into the store, “Coulson’s got this, babe. Let’s go buy some turkey.”

Bucky thinks he catches sight of Coulson in the checkout line, buying a teddy bear. But Steve’s pissed he’s not strong enough to steer the cart anymore, so he’s about three seconds from starting a fight with the next person who blocks the aisle. Bucky doesn’t give it another thought.

=====

Steve brings caramel apple cupcakes, because they are delicious and Steve enjoys feeding the filling to Bucky while he waits for them to bake. Darcy brings her great-grandmother’s pumpkin pie, and wouldn’t shut up about it until Bucky agreed to try a piece.

“Even people who claim not to like pumpkin pie like this pumpkin pie,” she insists, cutting a generous piece and waiting for Bucky to taste it. Her eyebrows raise expectantly as he puts the first bite into his mouth.

Bucky’s used to being watched while he’s eating, but this is a different situation entirely. Steve is there with him, but it’s not the same. He just feels awkward. And it’s pumpkin pie.

“It’s good, Darce,” he says, swallowing thickly.

“See, I told you you’d like it! I knew it!” She flits off to convince Bruce to convince him to have some.

“You hate it, don’t you,” Steve leans in and takes the plate out of his hands.

“Tastes like dirt, Stevie. Like soft, cinnamon-y, nutmeg-y dirt.”

Steve takes a bite, “It’s delicious.”

“Glad you like it,” Bucky says. “She’s going to give me huge pieces at every autumn gathering until she dies or we move, you know.”

“Yeah,” Steve says around a huge mouthful. Bucky’s heard him make sounds in bed that didn’t sound that happy. “I’ll be happy to take this off your hands any time.”

“Okay, we’ve had turkey, we’ve had potatoes, we’ve had cranberry sauce. We’ve passed around the coffee and the pumpkin pie. Why was it so important we were all here?” Clint asks.

“Sit down, everyone,” Tony says, tapping a butter knife on a champagne flute.

“We’ve got some big news,” Bruce says. “Pepper, would you - “

“We’re pregnant!” Tony all but screams.

“Excuse me?” Pepper says, and Bruce cringes like he knows what’s coming next. “Who exactly is pregnant here?” Pepper asks, and Tony tries to explain they’re all technically expecting, and Bruce is trying to diplomatically pull him away before he makes it worse.

“Are your feet swelling right now, Tony?” Pepper yells. “Did you cry over a cotton ball yesterday? Did you take Bruce out for sushi and coffee? And beer? Did a college student shove a dildo with a camera attached to it up your vagina to make sure everything was progressing smoothly while other collegge students watched?” Pepper stalks out of the room after them.

“So … how far along is she?” Clint asks.

“About four months,” Natasha supplies, leaning down the hallway to try to listen in on the end of the argument. “They wanted to get out of the first trimester before they announced anything.”

“So, she’s due around the start of Spring,” Bucky says.

Steve looks over at him, a strange expression on his face.

“Actually,” Natasha says, coming to sit back down just before Tony and Pepper and Bruce return to the room, “she’s due on April Fool’s Day.”

“Of course I am, I’m carrying Tony’s child!”

“Not to be indelicate, Pepper, but,” Coulson starts.

“Are you carrying Tony’s child?” Darcy asks, holding her phone up so Jane and Thor can hear.

“We don’t know who the biological father is, and we don’t want to know,” she says.

Bruce looks at his shoes, bashful, and Tony preens.

“Congratulations,” Steve says.

“Now your liver can stop hating me, Bucky.” Pepper pats his shoulder.

“I wondered if that’s what that was, but, you know, free drinks,” Bucky says, standing up to gently hug Pepper.

====

“Steve, I promise you I don’t want kids,” Bucky says when they’re cuddled in bed that night, before Steve can deny thinking any such thing.

“But you love kids.”

“I know, I do. But I don’t want them.”

“I don’t understand,” Steve rolls over, tilts his head back to try to look at Bucky. “How come you don’t want them?”

Bucky blows out a breath. “Okay, you know how the other day I fucked you over the back of the couch?”

Steve nods.

“We can’t do that in the middle of the day if we’ve got rugrats running around underfoot.”

“But - “

“And what about when we took off and went to Philly for that show for the weekend? Can’t do that with kids, either.”

Steve shrugs.

“Plus, Pepper’s going to beg us to babysit, just to give the kid a break from Stark and Banner.”

“The lullabies they’re going to compose for that kid, oh my god,” Steve snorts.

“And,” Bucky takes a deep breath, holds Steve’s hands and pulls him over to lie on top of him. Steve settles in and Bucky continues. “I know you’ve been talking to Antoine about the documentary.”

“Not seriously.”

“Steve, you’ve been talking about this in one form or another for a couple of years now. You’re going to do it. It’s a matter of when, not if at this point.”

“I’m -”

“Hey, I’m with you, all the way. It’ll be fun. Don’t know what I’m gonna do with it, but I’m down.”

“We talked about this already. We decided-”

“No, we decided back then that it wasn’t right. But you’re going to do it. I know you. You’re going to do it.”

Steve’s been considering it, now that he’s let Antoine talk him into the idea that the concept has artistic merit.

Steve nods slowly against Bucky’s chest.

“Well then. Let’s focus on that instead of the hypothetical children that neither of us want to have.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am so sure,” Bucky says, rolling onto his back and pulling Steve to him.

“I’ll call Antoine in the morning, then. And after, you can do dirty things to me in the wide open of our child-free house.” Steve snuggles in, his hand stroking across Bucky’s stomach.

Bucky breathes slowly for a while, while Steve draws nonsensical designs into his skin.

“Kids are expensive,” Bucky says.

“Um. I’ve heard?”

“We aren’t. Just us, I mean.”

“No, we’re pretty thrifty,” Steve smiles, sitting up against the wall that serves as their headboard,

“We’ll be able to really do it up then, when I take you on a cruise."

“What?”

Bucky rolls to the side, hiding his face in Steve’s bony thigh and groaning when Steve rubs his shoulders, hits a knot and works it out. “For our honeymoon. I know I can’t fly anywhere just yet, and we’ve used up our road trip allotment for the year. So a cruise. Where it’s warm.”

“Oh my god, warm,” Steve moans.

“Thought you’d like that part.”

“Here’s to our ridiculous disposable income then.”

“Suck it, diapers,” Bucky mumbles.

=====

Bucky’s already at the nutritionist’s office when Pepper comes in. “Apparently, it’s perfectly natural for everything to fucking hurt all the fucking time,” Pepper says, slamming her coat and purse onto the empty chair in the waiting room.

“So the doctor’s visit went well, I take it?”

“Why, why would anyone willingly do this to themselves more than once?"

Natasha and Bucky shrug at each other.

“Never been happier in my life not to have to find out,” Bucky says.

“Hear, hear,” Natasha says.

“Why is it four hundred degrees in here?” Pepper shouts, stripping out of her sweater. “Do they not know people are dressing for the weather out there? Out there, it is New York in December. In here, it’s the freaking Bahamas!”

Bucky glances helplessly toward the receptionist’s desk. She smiles and waves a hand in the air as if this is an everyday occurrence. They specialize in pregnancy, so who knows, maybe it is.

“Oh, Bucky! You’re taking Steve to the Bahamas, right?” Pepper asks, smiling brightly and not at all like she was three seconds from spitting pea soup at them just a moment ago.

Bucky looks over her shoulder at Natasha, who shrugs. “Uh, yeah. Well, somewhere warm and tropical and islandy.”

“Oh, Bucky. You’re just so sweet,” Pepper dabs at her eyes with a tissue and the nurse calls her name.

“Hey, only four more months of this,” Natasha says, casually turning the page of her magazine.

=====

Steve checks the mail while Bucky helps Jo and Fabi wrestle the stroller outside. She’s been working the early shift at the hospital, and she’s found a nanny she really loves, so Bucky and Steve haven’t seen them a lot lately. There’s a large padded envelope among the bills and junk mail. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but the postmark is from Billings. When he opens it, he pulls out a couple of photographs and a post it note. The note says simply, “Thanks. For everything. Thought you might enjoy this. -A "

Steve turned the pictures over in his hand and choked on his laughter. Bucky, it was obviously Bucky: skinny, so skinny, probably seventeen, in a letterman’s jacket.

And blond hair.

Awful, awful blond hair.

“Oh my god, I need to go _feed_ you. Not for kinky reasons, you just look so _skinny_! Or were you too busy bleaching your hair?”

“It was a hazing thing,” Bucky mutters, trying halfheartedly to snatch the pictures away from Steve. “We all did it.”

Steve dances away from him on the landing, dodging up the stairs and then running a few steps down the hallway. “I don’t think that’s an excuse, Buck. If all of your friends jumped off a bridge.”

Bucky snatches at him again, protecting the full bag of food he has in one hand, but it’s only a half-assed motion. “I don’t think you understand locker-room culture then. I’ll have you know all of my friends did jump off a bridge, and so did I. It was awesome. Gimme.”

“No, no, these babies are so mine,” Steve darts out of Bucky’s reach, and then bends over, coughing a couple of times.

Bucky ignores it, waits for Steve to straighten up on his own. It’s best to just wait it out most times. “As if you don’t have embarrassing pictures in your past.”

Steve’s breathing heavy and Bucky can hear the slight rattle in his chest that’s been concerning him for the past few days. He resettles the bag of take-out and opens the apartment door.

“Nope. I pretty much looked the same from age five to now, give or take some ink and a scoliosis brace.”

“I’m calling bullshit.”

Steve ducks out from under Bucky’s arm and tucks the pictures away inside his sock drawer. He envies Bucky at times like this. He’d have frozen to death in three steps if he tried to leave the house in December in nothing but a sweet leather jacket and beanie cap. Sexy asshole.

“No, its true. I’ll dig out the photo albums while your mom’s here if you want, but you’re going to live in utter disappointment of how much not changing I’ve done since first grade.”

“Forget how much I want to see them, Mom and Amy won’t let you out of the house until you do.”

“I owe them, then. This is the best Christmas present anyone could ever give me.” Steve waits as Bucky sets out the Thai food they brought home.

“Yeah, yeah. Wait til you see what Gabe’s sending.” Gabe mentioned he’d found a whole shoebox full of pictures of them from one drunken night on leave. Bucky’s not sure he’ll want to look at them, see what he used to look like, but he didn’t know how to turn down the offer.

"Can’t wait. I’m going to get Amy the biggest gift basket ever, filled with like, yoga mats and … kale.”

"Kale?"

Steve shrugs. “She seems like a kale person.”

Buck leans back on the sofa. “Kale is good.”

"When do you eat kale?"

"Wednesdays. Pepper makes it for us after we visit the nutritionist."

"Us, you and her or us, you and me?" Steve teases.

"It really isn’t my fault it doesn’t make it home to you. Kale doesn’t travel well. And it cooks down a lot. We have to buy huge bunches of it." Bucky grabs a fork and a plate. “You’re stupid turned on right now, aren’t you?”

Steve blushes. “Shut up, asshole. So, what’d the doctor say?”

“Pepper’s fine.”

“Good. What did the doctor say about you?” Steve presses.

“I’m good. Fit as a fiddle. Healthy as a horse.”

Steve raises one eyebrow.

“She's proud of me for quitting, I should sleep more, and while it’s fine now I should think about maybe watching my cholesterol in the future.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She’s a good doctor. I like her. You about done talking? I’m hungry.”

Steve perks up, finally remembering the forgotten take out containers of red curry for him and pad thai for Bucky. He’d mostly wanted something spicy to try to clear his sinuses, but the thought of watching Bucky work his way through two boxes of noodles certainly helped.  

“It took longer than I thought,” Bucky says, his voice a little lower, “But I thought maybe you’d be interested in helping me out with that tonight.”

Steve just nods in response.

“Get started,” Bucky nods at Steve’s bowl. “I’ll still be here when you’re done,” he slurps some noodles noisily into his mouth.

Steve rolls his eyes, Bucky’s being obnoxious on purpose, but he can’t deny it’s working.

By the time he’s finished, Bucky’s working on the second box. He’s slowed down considerably, but Steve’s not sure if that’s because he’s getting full or if it’s because he’s waiting.

“Doing okay?”

Bucky nods, leans back, and thumbs the button of his jeans open. They were already tight to begin with, but their dinner has pushed them to straining.

Steve watches, transfixed, as Bucky’s zipper slides down on its own, tooth by tooth.

“Ah, that’s better,” Bucky says, a wicked smirk on his face.

Steve swallows roughly. “Can I?” he asks, reaching out to touch.

Bucky nods, taking another bite.

Steve pinches Bucky’s lovehandles lightly, right where they’ve spilled out over the sides of his unbuttoned jeans. “ _Oh_.”

Bucky slumps down a little more, making more room by spreading his legs. Steve slides closer, hands never still as they’re rubbing circles across his stomach, easing the slight tightness Bucky’s feeling from his dinner. He’s nowhere near pushed to his absolute limit, but that’s not to say he’s not overdoing it.

Steve isn’t even looking at his face anymore, just watching his hands press and relax. “That’s good, that’s nice,” he occasionally mutters, pausing to ask if Bucky’s still doing okay, and it’s perfect, it’s exactly how Bucky wanted to end the evening.

=====

Before his family comes in for the holidays and the hell of their wedding-not-wedding descends, Bucky and Steve spend the evening with their friends at Stark’s club for the annual holiday bash.

Tasha, Darcy and Clint are performing a loose set of holiday themed songs in between karaoke and Thor’s DJing whenever they decide to take a break. It’s an organized sort of chaos that somehow seems to work.

Everyone’s wearing ugly Christmas sweaters except Clint, who is performing in a pink and teal sleeveless Christmas sweatervest and the bottom half of what appears to be an elf costume. Complete with jingly curly-toed shoes.

Bucky elbows Coulson in the side. “What. The hell?”

Coulson opens his mouth and then shuts it again, shaking his head. “It makes him happy,” he says with a shrug.

“You’re a good man, Coulson.”

Coulson looks away. “Not particularly. It’s not purely altruistic.”

“No harm in getting something out of it. Though if you tell me that outfit is a turn on for you, I’m going to have to retract some of the respect I have for you.”

Coulson chuckles. “The outfit, no. What it represents, well.” He shrugs.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “You’re a good man, Coulson,” he repeats. The moment stretches, comfortable, before Bucky rolls his shoulders, clinks the mouth of his bottle against Coulson’s and wanders off to find Steve.

“Mom comes in tomorrow” he says, wrapping Steve up in a hug and burying his face in Steve’s shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“It’s going to be a nightmare.”

“You’ll be fine. If nothing else, Pepper’s going to take Amy to her prenatal yoga class, so there’s that to look forward to.”

=====

Bucky and Steve take one of Tony’s limos to the airport.

“I promised them I got a guy, right?” Steve says, knocking his shoulder into Bucky’s side and bringing the Brooklyn out in his accent again. Bucky is not going to tell him how sexy that is. At least, not when they’re on the way to pick up his mother and baby sister from the airport.

They wait at baggage claim, Starbucks in hand and they make up stories about the travelers they see, mostly harried looking parents waiting for college-aged kids to come home. Amy almost knocks Bucky over, she runs up to him so fast. Apparently, she’s a not a great flier and their flight was on the bumpy side.

Bucky’s mom almost knocks Steve over with her hug. She loves flying, she’s just that happy to see them.

They go to the diner for breakfast, since apparently Amy left hers in the airplane bathroom. Steve elbows Bucky in the stomach, hard when he teases her about it. It’s the first time he’s seen Bucky do anything big-brotherly. He’s grateful being on their home turf seems to have settled Bucky down for this visit. Steve didn’t want a repeat of the last time they were around Bucky’s family.

“It’s not fancy,” Bucky says, “but they do a killer short stack.”

Once Ruby’s dropped off their order and chatted with Bucky’s mom for what feels like a hundred years, Bucky’s mom offers to take Steve dress shopping with her and Amy, “for the reception,” which caused Bucky to choke on his hash browns.

“No, thank you,” Steve declines. “I’m wearing a suit. Just like Bucky,” he explains slowly, patting Bucky on the back while he tries to take a drink and stop coughing.

“Oh, of course you are, dear. But for your … _unmentionables_ ,” she whispers.

Steve looks around the diner for anything, anything to get him out of a conversation with his fiance’s mother about him wearing panties.

“Actually, Mom,” Bucky says, wiping his eyes and leaning back. “That’s more my thing.” Bucky pops a melon ball from Amy’s plate into his mouth.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts at the same time his mother admonishes, “James!”

Amy, for her part, looks like she’d rather be anywhere in the entire world. She looks even more uncomfortable than Steve feels, and that’s pretty close to impossible. “Oh my god, this is not happening. This is _not_ happening.”  

“Oh, boys. James, get your shoes off the seat,” Mrs Barnes admonishes, swatting bucky’s feet down from next to her.

“Yeah, _James_. What’s wrong with you?” Amy teases.

“James? Are any of your friends … is it offensive to say straight? I don’t mean to be insulting, I know New York is liberal and your people aren’t going to get in trouble now, but you hear all these stories and I just worry.”

“She’s been reading.” Amy rolls her eyes.

“That’s sweet, Mom, thanks.”

“Pepper’s straight,” Steve volunteers.

“Pepper? That’s the pregnant lady with ... _two_ boyfriends?”

“Well. Yes. But she is straight,” Steve says.

“Sam.” Bucky counts on his fingers. “Thor, I think, technically. Tasha?”

“Mm, no.”

“Right, right.”

Amy’s head is swivelling like she’s watching a tennis match, and Bucky grins at her. “It’s a glamorous life, kiddo.”

“Amy, you’re in college, right?” Tony plops down at their table from nowhere. For someone who lives for the grand entrance, he sure can appear whenever and wherever he wants.

“No hitting on my sister, Stark!”

“What, no, ew. She’s a tiny little infant child, no offense.”

“Welcome to our breakfast, Tony, won’t you please sit down?” Steve says.

“Thanks, buddy!” He steals a piece of Steve’s bacon. “Amy, you got a fake ID?”

Amy glances at her mother. “No! No, of course -”

“Amy,” Bucky says with a grin.

“Yeah, but I don’t. I mean, I’m _twenty_. It’s not. I just want to get _in_ , I don’t-”

“Good, if anyone asks, we never had this conversation. Bachelor party at the club. Tonight. Mrs Barnes, a pleasure, as always.” Tony kisses her knuckles.

“Oh,” she swoons, watching Tony leave just as suddenly as he appeared. “Are they looking for another girlfriend to round out their group?”

“Mom!” Bucky and Amy both shout, equally scandalized.

Steve grins.

“Yeah, babe,” Bucky says, his arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Welcome to the family.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> And ... that's it! Thank you all so very, very much for reading this series! I've had so much fun with it!
> 
> Come hang out with me on [tumblr ](http://essieincinci.tumblr.com/)or take a look at stuff that reminds me of this verse on this [tumblr](http://cpbvpicturebook.tumblr.com/).


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